


The Future Comes

by rubyavaria



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Endgame, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Lives, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark post-Endgame, tony stark survives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 137,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyavaria/pseuds/rubyavaria
Summary: "You're the Mandarin. You're the ones who killed my mother."I was just trying to have a normal sophomore year. (Okay, not really, I was trying to find and destroy the Mandarin after they kidnapped me. But same thing, hey? And it was fair: I was trying to avenge one parent, just after almost losing the other.) However, life had other plans for me. Such as the aforementioned being kidnapped, supervillains destroying Manhattan, and growing closer to Peter Parker. I turned up on my father's doorstep aged five, and somehow this was the most exciting year yet.This will contain a LOT of Stark Family Fluff, as well as Peter Parker fluff and basically this is how I wish my life was.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> to clarify on trigger warnings:  
> There will be mentioned past abuse/rape that happened to a child and some recovery from that but this will not be focused on much.  
> There will be traditional superhero violence but not that much gore  
> There will be a school bombing but I will put trigger warnings at the start of the chapter and it can very much be skipped over. No main characters will get hurt.  
> I will add to this as the story grows because it's pretty much made up as I go tbh  
> Also, rated teen because of cursing
> 
> I'm just writing this for fun so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ any plot holes/conveniences don't really interest me. HOWEVER, I do want to improve as a writer so if there is something about the style itself that bothers you (eg I need more description or my characters all act the same) then please tell me. i will use this as an opportunity to improve my writing in general.
> 
> Also this chapter is incredibly short. The future ones will not be as short as this

I glanced between the bit of paper in my hand, and the house in front of me. The two didn’t seem to correlate. Anthony E. Stark, 10880 Malibu Point, California. Small words, in Mom’s tight scrawl, looped letters just a little too sharp to be easy to read. And then the huge, sprawling, mansion like place in front of me.

I swung my Elsa backpack off my shoulder and dug out a matching Anna purse. Ten dollars was two months’ savings, but now that Mom was gone, all her money was mine. I handed it to the taxi driver who took it almost hesitantly.

“You sure about this?” he said. “I can take you back to the city, if you prefer. This is…” He looked up at the house with all its glass and white stone. “Pretty sure there was an attack here a few months ago.”

There had been. Mom had been here right around that time. Still, the house had been rebuilt in no time. Mr Stark’s money clearly wasn’t useless.

“This is right,” I replied. “You can go.”

The taxi driver raised an eyebrow but pulled the door shut and drove away. I lifted my backpack and approached, the door seeming further and further away with every step. The wind was blowing through my hair, smelling of salt and sea. A helipad sat on the left of the path. The house was perched on the edge of a cliff, cupped in the red craggy spires as if in a hand.

The door was—all too suddenly—right in front of me. I swallowed. And swallowed again.

What is there to lose? I asked myself. Nothing. And it was true. There was nothing to be lost. If Mr Stark didn’t want me, he would just send me back to the foster home. It’s not as if he can do anything worse.

I stepped forward and reached up, stretching onto tiptoes to reach the doorbell.

After a few seconds of silence, I pressed it again. A woman’s voice echoed from inside the house: “Coming!”

There was the clack of heels, then another voice. A man’s this time. My breath caught in my throat. Was that—him? “Pep, don’t! I’m coming. Just—be careful.”

There was a murmuring of low voices, then slower footsteps. I swallowed and scraped my sweaty palms down the fabric of my hoodie. There was a ball of nerves in my stomach, shooting panic every few seconds. Nothing to lose, I reminded herself, just as the door cracked open.

His eyes—eye, really, considering the narrowness of the gap—was high, first. Expecting an adult. Or an enemy, given the wariness in his expression. Then he glanced down, and that turned into confusion.

“There’s a kid,” he said.

“What?” came the female voice, and the door was yanked further open. A tall woman in office clothes with strawberry red hair frowned down at me. I stared at her, not wanting to shift my eyes to the man at her left.

“Are you here to sell girl scout cookies?” he said. “‘Cause I gotta say, I’m not really a fan of the white ones. What are they? Lemon? Yeah, not really my thing.”

“I don’t think she has cookies, Tony.” The woman gave him a look, and a smirk tugged at his lips. I looked away. He wasn’t really the father type, it didn’t seem. The woman looked back at me. “Can we help you?”

I opened my mouth, thinking of all the things I had planned on saying. None of them seemed right. “Can I come in?” I finally said. 

They shared a glance. The woman—Pepper, I thought her name was—finally stepped sideways to open the door. “Yeah,” she said, her eyes scanning the road behind me. “Come on in.”

 

####

 

“So you don’t sell cookies?” he said as Pepper set down a glass of orange juice in front of me.

I shook my head and he pouted. “But I know how to make them. Not the lemon ones. The chocolate chip ones. My mom taught me.”

“Perfect,” he said, sliding off his bar-stool and walking towards the window. “You—” He gestured with the long, thin rectangle in his hand— “can stay as long as you want.”

I didn’t laugh. It was probably supposed to be funny. Pepper didn’t laugh either.

Pepper reached out and gripped my wrist. She was a mom-type. “Hon,” she said, “Where is your mom?”

“She’s dead,” I said.

Pepper’s hand fell from my wrist and her mouth fell open. Even Mr Stark froze.

“Oh, honey,” said Pepper. “I’m so sorry. That must be terrible.”

I shrugged. It had been three months since it had happened, and I tried not to think about it too much. She had stayed away for three months before. Only this time, people told me she was never coming back. Mr Stark had turned slowly. His arms were crossed over his chest and his chin was tilted back. He was judging me. Judging what I might be here for.

“You knew her,” I said. “Her name was Maya Hansen.”

Tony took a step forward. His chin was tilted upwards as if this was a puzzle that needed his attention. “Maya didn’t mention she had a kid.”

“That’s because she didn’t want you to know. Or Mr Killian.”

“Why not?”

“Because she knew that if Mr Killian knew about me, he would try to use you against me. Because, you see, you’re my father, Mr Stark.”


	2. Endgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanos is coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very lazy so I just skip out a massive middle section of the battle, but you've all seen Endgame so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

he sun beat down on my back, burning in the way that is only nice if you’re lying next to a lake and wearing a bikini. I was trying to read, but my eyes scanned the page and didn’t take any words in. Pepper was beside me, stretched out on a towel and soaking in the sun. Morgan was playing in the shallows of the lake in nothing but underwear.

But Dad wasn’t here.

He was upstate, with the six most powerful entities in the universe, attempting to bring half of everyone in the universe back to life. If it hadn’t been for Peter, I would have told him to stop. But then, if it hadn’t been for Peter, he wouldn’t have been doing it in the first place.

I put down the book, bending the spine over the grass, and lifted myself. “Hey, Morgan!” I called down to the water.“You want me to come play?”

“Liv!” she grinned back. “Come! Bring the spade!”

I grinned and reached out to snag it.

“Don’t drown,” Pepper murmured and I laughed.

“There go my plans for a fun afternoon,” I said and she smiled back, her eyes opening just enough to show the hint of worry she was still holding on to. “He’ll come back, Pep. He always does.”

She reached out and I gripped her hand. She was just as much family as Tony and Morgan were. Perhaps more so than my own birth mother. After all, it was Pepper who had legally adopted me when the Social Services wouldn’t let a ‘known-combatant and mentally ill risk to himself and others’ adopt a five year old. With the red hair we both shared, I even looked more like her than like Tony.

She squeezed my hand and let go, and I pulled on a t-shirt as I walked. “You got something to show me, bud?” I asked, and Morgan grinned.

“It’s daddy, see!” She reached out, pointing with a stick, towards the sand. A crude drawing of a stick figure flying over a city was etched there. Morgan pouted and reached out again, and within seconds another stick figure appeared beside dad, hanging from a rope that stretched out and attached to nothing.

Peter.

Morgan’s tiny hand curled into mine and I looked away. Don’t cry in front of Mo, I thought. She doesn’t understand it yet.

“Is Mister Peter coming home today?” she asked, dark brown eyes staring up at me.

“That’s the plan,” I said. “Why, are you busy around that time?” I reached out and tickled her. She giggled and squirmed under my fingers, shrieking for me to stop. I threw her up and caught her as she screamed, and I hissed as she grabbed onto my hair.

“Mo,” I said, “You’re hurting me.”

Her lip jutted out and she let go. I sighed. The tears were coming. I set her down on the edge of the pier and kneeled in the water, my eyes level with hers. “You want a juice pop?”

The lip disappeared and any sign of tears was gone. “Juice pop!” she said.

I gripped her hand and we walked—her on the side of the pier, me in the shallow water--back towards the house.

Pepper wasn’t on her blanket. I looked around, and—there—behind a tree, bright orange sparks appeared in the air. A fire? But there was no heat, and it didn’t look like flame. No, this reminded her of that day in the park five years ago when a sorcerer had interrupted their family jog and stolen her dad for a space-traversing, universe-saving mission.

But that sorcerer was dead now.

Unless he wasn’t anymore.

“Hey, Squirt,” I said, and Morgan hummed up at me. “You wanna go get Happy and get him to get you a juice pop? I’ll be inside in just a minute. Go tell Happy about your drawing in the sand.”

Morgan ran off, her hair bouncing, and I lifted a pair of shorts from beside my book, pulling them on as I neared the tree.

And there he was. Doctor Strange. Stephen. And Pepper, beside him, almost unrecognisable in her purple and gold Rescue armour.

“What’s going on?” I said, wariness entering my voice.

They turned simultaneously, but their answers were very different. “Nothing,” said Pepper immediately, whilst Strange said, “Thanos is invading earth and plans to wipe out all life in the universe. We need to fight.”

Pepper’s expression was incredulous. “She’s just a kid, Stephen!” she hissed. “You can’t say things like that!”

“If we’re not careful, Miss Potts, everyone in the universe will be dead. Thanos doesn’t care who is a child. Even your precious Morgan will be gone by then. I’d say we have bigger things to worry about.”

“I want to fight,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” said Pepper, rounding on her. “If you think I’m going to let you go into battle—“

“You can’t stop me.” I reached for my necklace and tapped it twice. Within seconds, a layer of green was spreading over me like moss over a tree, my shorts and t-shirt hidden under a nanoparticle suit. Gold glinted on the wrists and face, and a shining blue arc reactor shone in my chest as if it were part of me. Only my face was left uncovered.

Pepper stared. “Where the hell did you get that?” she demanded. “Did your dad make that for you?”

“He made it for _you_ ,” I said. “I just made a few modifications. He just leaves these things lying about; it’s not like he even noticed this was gone.”

Pepper shook her head, still staring.

“I’m coming,” I said. “If Dad’s in trouble, I’m coming.”

“We don’t need you to come, Olivia, you’d just get hurt—“

“No harm will come to her,” said Strange, his voice snapping both of them away from each other. I’d almost forgot he was there. “You have my word. And she might be more important than you think. Now let’s go. We haven’t got all day.”

“Wait,” I said. “You were dead, right?”

Strange raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very blunt way of saying it but yes, I suppose I was.”

“But you’re alive now.”

He inclined his head.

“Is Peter—Are they _all_ back?”

Strange nodded. “All of us. And that’s very lucky, too, because we’re about to need all the help we can get.”

Pepper switched her stare to him. Then back to me. Then to him. Then back to me. “Are you serious? She’s a _kid.”_

“I’m coming, Pepper. There’s no point trying to stop me.”

“But Morgan—“

“Is with Happy. She’s fine. FRIDAY, tell Happy where we’re going.”

“Yes, Boss,” came the Irish voice.  
“Fine,” said Pepper. “But if you’re ever in danger—ever in a situation that you might not be able to win—you turn and you get _as far away as possible_ , you understand?”

I reached out and gripped her hand with a smile. I couldn’t really say yes to that, could I? Not given that we were going onto a battle field.

I turned to Strange. “Let’s go.”

He twisted his hand and the portal behind him reopened, showing a desolate, grey, clouded field. Rocks jutted from the ground and a shining circle in the sky showed a dull, muted sun behind the dust. On our left, dozens of other glowing portals had opened, people spilling through.

“Where are we?” I wondered aloud.

“The Avengers Compound,” Strange replied. “Thanos has already attacked. We need to get to them, to help them.” He took a step forward and span another portal to his left. “Get down there! Find Tony and help them.” Pepper’s helmet snapped down and she disappeared into the dust. I started to follow, but Strange said, “Olivia.” I turned. “What you do today is important. Remember that we’re always stronger together.”

I stared at him. How helpful. What was that even supposed to mean?

“Now, go,” he said, and I blasted away from the ground, spinning in the air and pushing my hands out behind me to hold me steady. I ignored the surge of exhilaration. Dad was in trouble. And, somewhere, Peter was back.

Would he still be sixteen? Or would he be twenty-one, as he should be?

There. A glint of gold, a shadow of red against the grey. Dad. I slammed into the ground beside him and lifted the helmet. Still breathing. I let out a sigh of relief. “Hey, Dad, you gotta wake up now.”

He shifted and grunted. I sighed. “FRIDAY, wake him up.”

“Yes, Boss.” There was a hiss of white, and a cold cloud of ice particles were emitted from the suit. Tony jumped, his eyes flashing open, and caught hold of my arms. “Dad. Dad, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

He calmed, his grip relaxing. “Liv, what the hell are you doing here?”

I grinned. “We’ve come to help.”

He stared around. “It’s too dangerous.”  
“Don’t bother,” I replied, pulling him to his feet. “Pepper’s already tried. I’m here anyway. Doctor Strange said I needed to be.”

He froze. I stared at him. “Whatever you do,” he said, his eyes fixed on me, “Don’t try to use the stones. If you have the gauntlet, you get it to Thor or Carol, if she turns up, or someone else who can use it.”

I swallowed. “No problem.”

His eyes were hard for a second more, then lifted from my face to what was behind me, and went wide. “The portals?”  
“We’re not the only ones who have come to help.”

He stared, his eyes frantically trying to take it all in at once.

“And guess what, Dad?”

His eyes met mine again.

“Petey’s back, too.”

As if he had been punched, he exhaled sharply. He sagged all at once, his shoulders falling. I grabbed him, and saw the tears in his eyes. “It’s gonna be okay, Dad. Promise. Now,” I turned to see the ever-widening army that we were part of. At the centre, Steve and Thor and an empty space. “Let’s go.”

He took off, his helmet snapping into place instantly, and I followed, pushing off the ground and towards the allies. I squinted at one of the portals, where a figure flew through the air in loops and came to crouch on the ground. Spiderman. I bit my lip. Thank god.

Tony landed in a crouch, shaking the ground beneath him, and suddenly the picture was complete. Iron Man, Thor, Captain America. And behind them, dozens upon dozens of rows of Avengers and sorcerers and fighters.

I flew past where he landed and instead dropped to the ground next to Peter. He was frowning at me—clearly wondering who it could be in a _green_ Iron suit. My helmet peeled back, and his confusion didn’t clear.

“Don’t recognise me? I’m _hurt_ , Parker.”

“Liv?” he said, and I grinned.

“The one and only. I’m almost as tall as you now.”

He shook his head. “This is so weird.”

I opened my mouth to say more, but then a single word boomed out from the centre. “Avengers!”

I stopped. Everything stopped. The world waited with a bated breath to hear the war cry that would come.

“Assemble.”

And we charged.

####

Every blast of my repulsers sent a monster to the ground. Every kick, every hit, every beam of my lasers. And it still wasn’t enough. There were more—always more. Always one ready to take the place of the fallen, to avenge the death of its fellow.

  
A huge fist appeared and crashed through me. I groaned as I hit the ground and rolled sideways. Another mass of grey swung through the air towards me and I pushed myself backwards across the ground out of the way. I stood and flew in circles, the air rushing past me. The monster roared when I blasted it with energy, and a wild mace came flying through the air. I dodged and parried a gigantic sword. Dodge, parry. Hit. Uppercut. Spin. Out of reach. Dodge inside his guard.

A huge fist closed around my throat and I couldn’t move. The monster’s glistening black eyes narrowed and he snarled. This guy was bigger than the others. Fifteen feet tall, just as wide.

“FRIDAY,” I hissed. “Blow this dude into next week.”

A missile loosed from my shoulder and he dropped me. I was just out of reach by the time a cloud of flame took him down.

I panted, taking stock of myself. My suit was practically untouched, as every time it was hurt it just repaired itself. It fit like a second skin to my body, as light or heavy as I needed it to be, and ridiculously intuitive.

I looked around. I was on top of a mound of rock at the centre of the battle field. It used to be the landing field for the jets, but it was barely recognisable. Around me, the battle raged. Something that looked like a cross between an eel and an elephant was flying across the sky above me, and a purple fly was crossing it with laser beams as it roared in pain and fury. Pepper.

Ant-man loomed above the battlefield, catching the enemy ships that he could reach and sending them crashing back to earth. On the field, hundreds of Wakandans speared and severed the alien invaders, and in small, concentrated knots, the real battles were waged.

The nearest was perhaps fifty metres away. The Falcon, the Valkyrie, and the War Machine swarmed what at first looked like another rock. But then it lifted an axe and swung, hitting Sam and sending him tumbling across the air. Cull Obsidian. I leaped and grabbed Sam before he could hit the ground and break something, sending him back towards where he was needed. He nodded in thanks and stared just for a second too long as he flew back. He probably didn’t even know who I was.

Further away, Scarlet Witch took on Ebony Maw, surrounded in flying objects and a cloud of red. To my right, Dad, Cap and Bruce took on Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive, all lasers and shields and roars.

But the biggest battle was in front of me. Gamora and Nebula working like clockwork, a well-oiled machine against the Mad Titan himself. Their blades were flashes of light, ringing out like bells across the field. The team that they had always deserved. Thanos was on a back foot, his blade barely parrying against the two of them in time. But then Gamora slipped—her foot landed on uneven ground and she fell backwards. Nebula turned on instinct, and Thanos took his opportunity, sending her flying across the rubble.

The tang of blood and rust echoed through the air with the wind, and I knew what I had to do.

I launched myself towards him. Missiles launched from my suit and Thanos disappeared under a cloud of flame and dust. I turned in the air and the legs of my suit melded together. He staggered under the momentum. “You killed my best friend,” I hissed, and jumped, my leg spinning behind me to smash his jaw. I hovered and blasted him with my repulsers. A fist came from the left and I danced upwards, but a flash of silver in the corner of my eye showed the blade flying towards me from the right.

I couldn't dodge that.

There was the slam of metal against metal, but no pain. No impact. I forced myself to look. A second blade, held in a blue-skinned hand. Nebula was back.

"Get out of here, kid," she snarled, her eyes and muscles straining to stay with Thanos as the two disappeared in a whirlwind of blue and silver and purple. "Your dad would never forgive me if your brains turned to pulp on my watch."

My lips quirked upwards."Weird way to say it, but I appreciate the sentiment."

A flash of green appeared from th left, and Thanos's head turned for just long enough that Nebula landed a blow to his upper arm.

I did what she told me to and found another alien to kill.

####

I swung my fist back, knocking the monster’s cheek. It went sprawling, but my legs disappeared from under me and a stinking wet mouth appeared right in front of me as another alien scratched at my chest. I rolled sideways, squashing it beneath me, and kicked back to hit another in the face. I blasted at a fourth as I rose upwards. There were too many of them. All around me, Avengers fought. Wanda breaking through swathes of the creatures. Thor’s lightning frying them. Clint taking down one after the other after the other. Carol in a fistfight with Thanos himself. But there were always more.

A weight yanked me downwards. A small one—perhaps the size of a large dog—was clinging there. Another jumped and caught on. I shook my foot but they clung tight. I blasted them, but soon another—a larger—jumped up. I tumbled to the ground under the weight.

The sky disappeared under writhing grey bodies. Scratching and screaming filled the air. I was being buried alive. I turned my palms upwards, flared the energy, and more screams sounded, but I was still stuck.

Then, over the pained and violent noises, I heard a familiar voice. “Get off! Get off her! Karen, Instant kill mode.”

And within seconds, I could see the sky again.

A hand gripped my elbow and pulled me to my feet. Peter.

“Thanks,” I gasped.

He frowned. “Doctor Strange said five years but I didn't believe him. It’s still weird how you’re older.”

“My bad,” I replied. It was weird. But it wasn’t _so_ weird, because all this time when I remembered the Peter that we had lost, it was a sixteen year old Peter. He hadn’t aged in my memories, and he hadn’t aged in real life either.

He opened his mouth to say something, but froze. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“What is it?” I gripped his arm.

He turned, looking over the field of violence to where I had last seen Carol and Thanos. His spidey sense clearly told him something I couldn’t see. “It’s your dad,” he said. “He’s going to use the stones.”

I stared. “Oh, shit,” I said. “We have to help him.”

I shot into the air, still holding Peter’s arm, and shot across the field. There, in a crater in the middle of the field, I saw Dad, his arm held in front of him. Just across from him sat Thanos, staring. Almost hopeless.

“And I… am…” I heard.

“Get down there!” I shouted at Peter, dropping him.

“Iron Man.”

He slammed into the ground just a second before I did, one on each side of Dad. I saw his eyes widen as he took us in, but his fingers were already moving.

I lunged to connect with him, my fingers clenching around his arm just as a flash of white light engulfed me, and power surged through me like water through a broken dam. And then the whole world exploded.

What could have been seconds or hours later, I collapsed, my bones jarring as I slammed into the ground. Beside me, Dad staggered, then fell to his knees. It felt like I was being ripped apart, every cell in my body dying. But still I could see that Dad was in worse condition. Burns covered his left side. He slumped back against a chunk of rock.

“Dad,” I rasped. “Dad.” His eyes met mine and his mouth opened, but no words came out. “FRIDAY, get the gauntlet off him,” I said, and I saw the hand of his suit crumble away and the stones fall to the ground.

“Mr Stark. Mr Stark, we won.” Peter stumbled towards us, untouched by the stones. “Oh, my god,” he said, and fell to the ground beside me. The last thing I saw was Rhodey, landing in the middle of our triangle, before the world went dark.


	3. Aftermath

I ached. All over. Everywhere. Pain. What had I done this time? Who could tell.

I opened my eyes, ignoring the pain and effort that it took. The world around me was white, and I wondered just for a split second whether I was in some screwed up version of heaven. _You don’t believe in heaven_ , I reminded myself. But if I _was_ gonna believe in it, now would probably be the time to do so.

I shook my head, except I didn’t because it hurt, and edged my gaze to the left. Someone lay on a bed beside me, but my blurred vision took a few seconds to adjust. It was Tony. I let out a sigh of relief. He was alive. Presumably. Yes, he was. I could see his chest rising and falling. However, I could also see the charred, blackened mess that was his arm.

Did I look like that?

I didn’t think I wanted to know.

“Liv,” sighed a voice from my other side. “You’re awake.”

I turned. Beside my bed, sat Peter, his brown hair ruffled and flat on one side as if he had been asleep. He probably had been. He was real cute, his eyes still blurred with sleep and a trail of drool down his chin. He leaned forward, and his face was close to mine.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

I cleared my throat. It was dry and rough, as if I had the world’s worst cold, only I knew it was probably much worse than that. “I’m fine,” I croaked. “Are you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

He nodded and glanced down. I knew that look. Guilt. “I’m… good,” he said. “I was on his left side, further away from the stones, and he was kind of between me and them. You and your dad got it worse.”

I smiled at him, my facial muscles protesting violently. “Slacker,” I said, and he offered a small smile in return. He felt guilty. I could tell. He thought he should be as badly hurt as me and Dad. He was wrong. I’d talk to him about that some other time, probably. I edged my head back towards Dad. “How is he?” I asked.

“He’ll be all right, the doctors say. They said they’d have to amputate most of his arm, but they don’t want to do it until he’s a bit better. He’s stable, though. At first it was pretty touch-and-go, for both of you, but everything’s gonna be okay.”

I frowned. “‘At first’? How long has it been?”

He hesitated, his eyes jumping to the side.

“Peter,” I said. “Tell me the truth, or I swear to God that I will get up and beat your ass back to space.”

He didn’t smile. “It’s been eleven days,” he said finally.

I stared at him. “Eleven?”

He nodded miserably.

Eleven days. Almost two weeks.

I stumbled off my bed and towards the door, the world spinning around me. An IV in my arm ripped itself out and I hissed. My legs swayed underneath me and I fell, steadying myself on the bedpost. “Morgan,” I said. “Pepper. Peter, where are they? I need to see—“

Peter was suddenly in front of me, his arms out to catch me if I fell. “You have to stay in bed!” he said, alarm clear in his voice. “They’re getting food. I’ll go get them. You’re not healthy enough to go anywhere!”

“After eleven days, I damn well _should_ be.” I pushed off, my legs feeling like fraying matchsticks beneath me, and started towards the door. Peter didn’t want to touch me, bless him, but he kept his arms at my sides as he walked backwards in front of me.

“Get out of the way, Peter. Take me to my sister and Pepper.”

“No,” he said, his eyes wide. He stood in front of the door and crossed his arms for about half a second before he realised that I still was in danger of collapsing and put his arms out again. “You have to get back in bed and I’ll bring them to you.”

“I’m going to see them,” I said. “And if you won’t take me, I’ll just go alone.” I shoved past him and he moved, despite the fact that he was strong enough to lift a train and my muscles were thin from being in bed for two weeks. I pushed open the door and saw Peter glance between me and Dad, his gaze conflicted. The corridor I entered was white and sterile, identical in both directions.“Peter,” I said, and he turned back to me. “Where do I go?”

He came out of the room, closing the door behind him, and pointed to the left. I took one step and my legs gave out.

Instead of hitting a hard, cold floor, warmth surrounded me and I realised that Peter had caught me, with one arm behind my knees and one behind my back.

“You’re going back to bed,” he said as he straightened up.

I glared at him.

This time, he glared back.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “But you gotta go get Morgan and Pepper. And Rhodey and Happy, if they’re there.”

He grinned and opened the door again, walking me back to the bed and setting me down against the sheets. “You’re way crankier than you were five years ago,” he said.

“And you’re _just_ as annoying.”

 

####

 

As soon as Peter was out of the room, I collapsed inwards. It really fucking _hurt_ , whatever was wrong with me. Was it radiation poisoning? That would kind of suck. I wondered if even the doctors knew. After all, it wasn’t every day that you got patients that had used the six most powerful objects in the universe to bring trillions of people back to life.

I’d have to ask.

I took several deep breaths and blinked away the tears in my eyes. My head was pounding, perhaps from the sudden movements, and my mouth was dry, so I reached for the cup of water on my bedside table and drank it in one.

Feeling slightly better, I looked down at myself. I was wearing an oversized _Hockey all day, every day_ t-shirt and shorts that I always used to wear as pyjamas. My comfiest, and homeless-est, clothes. I could live with that. My left arm, the one that had been closer to the stones, had a strange, iridescent quality, and it felt oily to touch. Some kind of moisturiser or cream? The skin beneath looked pinker than usual, like sunburn, and the very tips of my fingers were numb. I turned my hand over. They were black, like Dad’s whole arm. But nothing, compared to the pain that Tony had to be going through. I sighed.

Kind of crazy, huh. Saved the world. Not that I really did anything other than touch my dad—it wasn’t as if I had a choice with the rest of it—and at the time I had been thinking only of Tony, not the universe. Still. My Dad saved the universe. Pretty magical.

The room was fairly average. Off-white walls, a window on Dad’s side with closed yellow curtains. If I had thought I would be able to survive the trip, I would have gone to open the curtains and look out. Two doors led out of the room: one to the corridor that I had opened before and a second I hadn’t noticed that looked like it led to a bathroom.

But it was more the things _inside_ the room that interested me, because there were signs of a more permanent stay. Besides the two beds and a few chairs, the only furniture was the two bedside tables, which, at first glance, were quite empty. I pulled open a drawer, though, and there was the evidence of Pepper, Morgan and Peter’s stays. The book I had been reading before we had been called upon, with Pepper’s bookmark a little further in than I had been. She had probably been reading it to me. Some of Morgan’s toys, and a crayon drawing of three iron man-like suits of red, purple, and green, holding hands with a little girl that must have been her. Another drawing, almost identical except for the Spiderman that was now included in the family.

They had been getting along, clearly. I sighed. I had wanted to be there for their meeting, and I knew that Dad had, too.

I looked over at him. I had been trying to avoid it, given the arm. But in fact, other than that, he looked pretty good. There were scabs and scars closing on his face. He wore no shirt, presumably because of the difficulty of moving his arm, and his collarbones were thinner than they had been before. A white quilt had been tugged up over him and between his body and arm.

Someone had been shaving him while he was asleep—probably Happy or Rhodey—and his hair had been cut. I wondered what that was about.

Eleven days, man. Eleven days.

Footsteps hurried down the corridor and I straightened. The door slammed open and a shadow appeared, sprinting in and flinging itself up on my bed. Morgan grabbed me around the neck and settled on my lap quite firmly. I winced, but held her tight back.

“Morgan,” Pepper said, rushing in after her. “Morgan, remember that Liv isn’t very well. You have to let her rest. You don’t want to hurt her.”

Morgan started to let go, and I didn’t let her. I held tight. “It’s okay, Pepper,” I said. “I’m okay.”

She smiled tentatively and I smiled back. Morgan pulled away and this time I let her. She clambered off to sit on Pepper’s lap in the chair beside me. Thank god. Thank god they were both okay. Thank god that Morgan hadn’t somehow, in our half-cocked crazy plan, been hurt.

“How are you feeling?” Pepper asked, holding Morgan still as she fidgeted.

I gave her a knowing smile. “Wonderful.” What I really wanted to say was ‘like crap’, but that wasn’t really Morgan-friendly. “Bit achey, but I’ll live.”

“Good.” Pepper swallowed. “That’s good.”

I realised then how crap _she_ looked. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her hair unstraightened, her blouse buttoned wrong. “How have _you_ been, Pep?” I asked.

She nodded and tried to smile. “We’ve been alright. Happy and Rhodey took Morgan to the zoo yesterday. She got you a present.”

Morgan shot straight up and grinned. “I did!” she said. “Present! Mommy, can I have the present to give to Liv?”

Pepper smiled, despite herself, and pulled open her handbag. Morgan reached inside and pulled out a soft meerkat toy, about the size of her hand and, I could tell, grossly different to a real meerkat. Its eyes took up half its head.

“Here you go,” Morgan proclaimed solemnly, holding out the toy. “This is for you.”

“Thanks, Mo,” I said as I took it. “Does he have a name?”  
She grinned and looked back at Peter, who was leaning against the wall next to the door looking awkward. I hadn’t realised he was even there. “His name is Spiderpig,” she said proudly.

I laughed. “Spiderpig the meerkat?”  
Morgan nodded and grinned. I smiled back at her. Little kids were so weird.

“Hey, Pete,” said Pepper, and I turned towards him. “Would you mind taking Morgan back to the cafeteria? Feel free to leave her with Bruce or Clint and come back—we just didn’t finish eating, and I’d rather she didn’t crash from low blood sugar. Thanks, Honey.”

Peter nodded and led Morgan out of the room with a grin at me, and I realised that it was _me_ who had interrupted their meal. “I’m so sorry, Pepper. You should go and eat something too—“

“Shush, Honey,” said Pepper. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m only sorry that I wasn’t here when you woke up. Peter was here—he’s barely left your side since the accident—but I should have been here, too, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been asleep for eleven days, Pep. I can hardly expect you to have sat here all that time. Besides, Peter’s only here because he feels guilty. He thinks he should have been hurt as badly as me and Dad, which is ridiculous.”

“Did he say that?”

“No, but I can tell. And when Dad wakes up he’s going to feel responsible. They could have a guilt-off. I wonder who would win. I mean, seriously, we can’t _all_ feel responsible for this.”

Pepper opened her mouth and closed it again, avoiding my eyes.

I sighed. “Not you, too,” I said.

“That’s not fair, Liv. It actually _is_ my fault. I should never have let you come—you were in so much danger, and you’re just a kid—“

“Pepper, I _chose_ to do this. If I hadn’t been there, Dad would have died. As it is, we’re both fine, and so is the universe. Besides, Peter’s only a year older than me, and he’s been superhero-ing since he was way younger.”

“But he’s got superpowers! You’re just…”

“Yeah, and I had that suit. I was just as safe as you. More so, probably, because I actually _know_ how to use those suits.”

Pepper narrowed her eyes. “You know _what?_ Are you trying to tell me that you’ve used the suit before?”

I grinned sheepishly. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. “Only in the garden,” I said. “Never in danger. But it might just have saved my life, so you can’t get cross with me.”

Pepper sighed and leaned back in her chair. “You and your father are just the same. Both ridiculous, and so _stubborn_.”

I grinned. I was safe, then. At least until Dad woke up and realised what I had done.

“What time is it?” I asked, realising that I had no idea when or where we were.

“Seven in the evening.” Seeing my expression, Pepper continued. “It’s May 7th, and we’re in a specialist radiation hospital in Brooklyn. The Avengers pretty much have an entire floor rented on the hotel opposite and they’ve all been camping there. I think we have half the most dangerous people in the world sitting in the cafeteria downstairs right at this moment, and they all rotate. All the staff here gave up on the no-weapons-rule after they asked Bucky and it took him eleven minutes to find them all.”

I raised an eyebrow. “They’re all here? Why haven’t they split yet?”

Pepper shrugged. “They’ve been waiting for you and Tony to wake up. Want to say thanks, I guess.”

I frowned. “Weird,” I said. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes anywhere near my father. I knew—logically—that they wouldn’t hurt him, and I knew that Tony had forgiven them, but that didn’t mean _I_ had.

Pepper laughed. “Tell me about it. Carol—you know Carol? The glowing space one?—is the one that carried you up here. I mean, get that. An immortal space warrior who takes down armies just by looking at them carried my daughter to a hospital. Weird situation.”

I blinked. She had said _daughter_. But— “ _Carol_ carried me here? Captain Marvel?”

Pepper nodded, still laughing. “Peter was real mad about it. He passed out, just for a few seconds after the snap, but when he woke up you were both gone. Gotta say that Carol got you here faster than he could’ve, though.”

I blushed again. “That’s pretty mad, yeah,” I said. “Captain Marvel. Damn.”

Pepper sighed. “It’s a crazy world.”

“Sure is.”

The door opened and Peter slipped back in again, two doctors trailing him. One of them went to Tony, a clipboard in his hand, and started checking his vitals. The other came to stand next to me. “How are you feeling, Miss Stark?”

I grinned at him. “Just peachy. Aside from the fact that I can’t feel my left fingers, and my entire body feels like it’s been hit by six cars and possibly a herd of elephants.”

The doctor frowned at me. “That will go away. Your body has taken an immense strain—huge amounts of energy surging through before it went into the rest of the world—but it will fade in time. Within another week or so, you should be back to normal in that respect. As for the left hand…” He put down his clipboard and lifted my hand, turning it over to examine the blackened fingertips. “Yes, well. It’s not surprising that you can’t feel them. I expect the nerves have been irreparably damaged.”

I swallowed. “Will they need to be amputated?”

He frowned and set my hand back on the blanket. “In normal circumstances—though I supposed that none of this can be compared to a normal circumstance—I would say yes. However, you have some very intelligent friends with some very sophisticated technology. For example, your friend Mr Barnes and his arm, which I believe was created by Princess Shuri. The Princess has offered a similar set up for both yourself and for Mr Stark. She has suggested a kind of casing for your fingers, like a second skin, that will allow both movement and sensation, that will allow you to keep your fingers. She will come and speak with you about it later today, but I suggest for now, you rest. You are going to be just fine.”

I nodded slowly, settling back against the pillows. Metal fingers? Pretty snazzy. Especially if they were vibranium.

“Absolutely not,” said Pepper from beside me. I turned to glare at her and she just turned an equally fierce stare back at me. “Doctor Cho? You remember her? She got dusted, but her lab will be up and running within days, and we’ll be taking you there for tissue regeneration as soon as possible. You are _not_ going to have a vibranium hand.”

“But _Pepper—”_

“Olivia, this is non-negotiable. Your father would agree with me if he were awake.”

“Yeah, but he’s not. He’s unconscious, because I _saved his life_. Shouldn’t I at least get _something_ in return? Like, you know, a vibranium hand?”

“Absolutely not. When you’re eighteen, you can do what you want, but while you’re living under our roof, you do what we say, and we say that you will _not_ have a vibranium hand.”

I glared at her. She returned an equally steely expression. My doctor left the room silently and Pepper stood, crossing to Tony’s bed. She started speaking to him in a low murmur, too quiet for me to hear. Peter pushed off the wall and settled in the now-empty chair. “You should sleep.”

I nodded. I was getting kinda drowsy, but I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep anytime soon. “Can you read to me?” I asked.

His eyes widened and flickered between me and Pepper, as if he didn’t think he was the person that should be doing it. I didn’t know why I had asked. I didn’t know why I had asked _him._ It wasn’t like we had been close before—I had mostly avoided him. But after seeing Dad’s reaction to his death, it made me want to know more about him. “Uh—yeah,” he said, and pulled the book out of the drawer. Just as he started to read, the other doctor slipped out of the room and Pepper settled in the chair next to Tony. After a few minutes, as my eyes were starting to drift shut, the door opened and Rhodey carried a sleeping Morgan in, settling her on Pepper’s lap.

I fell asleep to the soft noise of Peter’s voice, rising and falling with the lulls of the chapter.


	4. Back to High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Liv go to Midtown to recover her back-up suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my chapters have weirdly varying lengths but oh well. Also I don't think I'm writing Peter with enough joking and awkwardness but I think that may be because he's no longer the youngest character so he wouldn't appear as immature

I woke to the soft sound of voices.

“Morgan’s with Nebula,” Rhodey said. “She’s teaching her table football, sat in the middle of a waiting room with Cap, Doctor Strange, Antman, Falcon, Carol, and at least ten other highly dangerous people. She’s safe as can be.”

“Thanks, James,” said Pepper.

There was silence for a moment, and then another voice said, “She better not die on my watch.”

Tony’s voice. Morgan? Die? Was it that Cap was there? Fair enough, I thought. He had betrayed the Starks before. Why not again? But I trusted Scott, and I trusted Carol, who was strong enough to take down all of the others at once if necessary.

“So reckless,” Tony continued. “I mean, what if she had died? What if Peter had died, too? You know what, if Peter dies again, I would rather that I was gone, too. I mean, I do _not_ want to be the one to tell May.”

 _Again._ The hidden word echoed through me. _The one to tell May, again_. Because Tony had already gone to May once before to tell her that her nephew was gone. I also realised that it was _me_ that he was talking about, not Morgan.

Pepper said, “Tony. She’ll be fine. It’s _you_ we’ve got to worry about.”

Tony scoffed. “As if. Let’s face it, Pep, I’ve been close to death hundreds of times before. This is not the worst I’ve ever been.”

I fluttered my eyes open and forced myself to a sitting position. All eyes in the room turned to me, but I was looking only at Tony. “Dad. You’re awake.” I offered him a smile as I adjusted myself into a more comfortable position.

He was staring at me. “I could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, but I already woke up yesterday, so it’s not really as exciting.”

“True. I’ll accept that. Now, we gotta talk. There’s a couple things I wanna straighten out with you.”

There was some movement behind him, and I glanced up to see Rhodey and Happy shuffling towards the door. They were studying me with frowns, but both smiled when they saw me looking at them. Rhodey nodded at me and Tony, and left. Happy hesitated for a second, his eyes fixed on me, and I realised that he had _tears_ in his eyes. “Glad to see you’re awake, Kiddo,” he said after a minute. “And _thank you_.”

It took me a moment to realise what he meant. I nodded at him and offered an awkward smile. It was kinda nice—but at the same time, I had never been great with compliments of any kind and if that became commonplace in the coming months, I might actually stab someone. It was wrong, too—it had been _Tony_ that saved the universe. _I_ had just saved _Tony._

He glanced back at Tony and they shared a meaningful look before Happy followed Rhodey out of the door. That left Pepper, Tony, and me.

“Where’s Peter?” I asked, and Tony grimaced.

“May insisted they have a family morning out at the aquarium. I think she just wanted to make sure he got some time out of the hospital. Should have asked him to take Morgan. Instead she’s just annoying everyone downstairs.”

“They probably like being annoyed,” I replied and stood, wincing, just to shift over to sit on the foot of Tony’s bed. “So. Talking. What are we talking about?”

“How about, we’re talking about the fact that you risked your life in a stupid and reckless manoeuvre just to try and save my life.” His eyebrow was raised, his eyes hard. He was being serious.

Unfortunately for him, _I_ was _not_ being serious. “How about, we’re talking about the fact that I saved your life and we’re both good, so there’s really nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, yeah, nothing other than the fact that you lost your hand!” he shouted.

“I did not!” I matched his tone. “I lost my fingers. Actually, you know what, I didn’t even do that. They’re just a little—banged up, that’s all. Besides, Shuri’s gonna give me cooler ones.”

“No, Liv, we already talked about that. You are _not_ getting vibranium fingers. You’re getting normal ones.”

“You’re fifteen, Kid. You shouldn’t be needing—“

“It’s _cool_ , Dad. You can’t deny that. Imma be the coolest kid at school, and you can’t stop me.”

Tony growled, frustrated. “Actually, we very much _can_ stop you. Anyway, that’s beside the point. You lost your hand, Olivia.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than losing my father.”

He went silent. Tough thing to reply to. There wasn't much he could say. I mean, _Don't worry, you'll get over it?_ or  _To be honest, you've only known I was your father for ten years?_  Beside him, Pepper was looking resolutely at anything other than me or him.

“Look, Tony, I’ve lost people before. This time, I could stop it. You can’t blame me for trying. And if you wanna talk about stupid and reckless, how about _you?_ Carol or Wanda could have done the snap. But of course, with all your self-sacrificing tendencies, it had to be you, huh?”

He glared at me. I grinned back at him. After a second, I knew I had won, because he rolled his eyes and groaned. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m gonna need that suit back. I’m not having you go into any life threatening situations any time soon.”

I shrugged. “I don’t even know where it is. I was unconscious, remember?”

He looked at Pepper, who nodded. “I’ve got it. Somewhere _safe.”_ She gave me a pointed look, but she’d never had the heart to glare like Tony did.

Tony sighed. “Fine. This discussion isn’t over yet, Kid. Remember that. But I gotta go do some press conference—the world can’t even function without me for twelve days, huh—so Pepper and I are gonna get going.”

I frowned. “You’re not—walking, are you? But you’re still—"  
  
“Don’t worry, Kiddo. I’m being wheeled there. In my bed. Like a baby. So I’m gonna need you to skedaddle and get back into your own bed, thanks very much.”

I slid off the side and stumbled back to my own bed just as a team of nurses entered the room, ready to push Tony along. Pepper lifted her bag and followed, stopping only to tell me that there were things in the bathroom for me to get cleaned up with, that food would be delivered and that Peter would be back soon to look after me. I almost protested. It couldn’t be good for him to spend _all_ his time in a hospital, even if he did get to spend it with me. But there was something on my mind—something that would need his help.

 

###

 

I showered, ignoring the ache in my body, and wrapped myself in a towel for lack of clean clothes to put on. I had washed my hair, despite the disgusting, tangled state I had found it in, and then sat for at least twenty-five minutes brushing it out in front of the mirror. It wasn’t good to brush wet hair. Stretched it. Still, that wasn’t really my biggest problem. The more I brushed it, the more I realised that it wasn’t the same as it had been before. The left side was shorter. I had more of a fringe around the side. It was uneven, as if it had been burnt. I plaited it back in two French braids. It would take longer to dry, but at least I wouldn’t have to look at the wonky fringe.

Couldn’t have given me the same haircut they’d given Tony, could they?

My face looked kinda banged up, too. Cuts and bruises. A fading black eye, even. Thin cheeks.

I guess I kinda knew why everyone had been giving me these looks over the past few days. As if I was bone china, about to break. Delicate. Yeah, well. Congrats to me for that.

I reentered the proper room and started searching for any clean clothes left out for me. There were none. Maybe they were in a different room, but I didn’t really want to go searching around a hospital in a towel. Pepper had a bag there, with a few blouses and skirts, and Morgan’s clothes, but most of Pepper’s things were probably in the hotel, and they wouldn’t have fit me well anyway. She had always been more petite than me.

Then I came across Peter’s bag. It was a high school duffel, the stitching coming apart at the seams. It was five years old, I realised. At least. God, it would have to be weird for him. Coming back to a world five years different to what it had been when you left. Kids grown up. New children born. Friends now adults, out of college even. A completely different world.

I yanked out a pair of his pyjama trousers and a science pun t-shirt and pulled them on. They were warm, but they didn’t even smell of him. He hadn’t worn them in over five years.

I was sitting on my bed, doodling on the back of a business card from Pepper’s purse when Peter came in. His eyes took in my attire and he frowned, glancing back at his bag, now sitting in the corner. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said. “Also, Hello Kitty? Really?” I asked, pointing at the trousers.

“Hey! Mr Stark bought those for me. ‘Snot _my_ fault they’re comfy.” He blushed as he sat down. “And yeah, it’s fine. It’s just—I didn’t even know that was there. May must have brought it.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door and a nurse came in with two trays of food and drink, and set them down on the bed. “Here you are,” she said, and we thanked her as she left.

I pulled the cover off the food and frowned. Beef stew with potatoes and carrots. “They forgot I’m vegetarian,” I said.

Peter stood, frowning. “I’ll go get something else for you—“

“ _Or_ , Peter.” He stopped and turned back towards me. “We could just go out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like, out into the real world?”

I nodded.

He laughed. “Yeah, right. No, but you know what? The cafeteria does really good cheese bagels. I’ll go get some.”

“O _r,_ we could go to that snazzy Italian place and have pizza and get out of this dumb hospital just for an hour.” I gave him my most angelic smile. I needed to get out of here, and with Peter it would be _much_ easier. Not that he would agree to what I _really_ wanted. “Please, Peter?”

He groaned. “Alright,” he said, and I grinned wide. “Fine. Whatever. But if Mr Stark finds out about this, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “My dad was captured by terrorists for three months and the first thing he did after fighting his way out was to get a cheeseburger. He can hardly blame me for this. Besides, he won’t be back for ages—they’re doing press.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Still. I’m not accepting any blame for this. Do you wanna… get changed?”

I looked down at my—well, at Peter’s— Hello Kitty pyjama pants and oversized t-shirt, and back at Peter. “No, thanks,” I replied.

He frowned, his mouth open like he was going to say something, and then shrugs. “Alright, then,” he said. “You’re gonna need to hang on, though.”

I grinned, despite the pain that still twinged every now and then, and the numbness in my left hand. Over the long five years that Peter had been gone, I had never forgotten _this._ I pulled myself out of bed as he opened the window. He climbed out, his hands and feet sticking to the walls, before putting out a hand to help me down. I gripped his shoulders, knowing that it wasn’t as if I could _hurt_ him, and wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. With me clinging to his back, he reached out a hand towards the other side of the courtyard and flicked, the web shooting out.

We dropped, and I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming. It was odd doing this with Peter in normal clothes—always before, he had been insistent on keeping his identity. Still, I supposed, for now, we were only going a short ways to get out of the hospital, and beyond that we would just be normal people. Besides, this inner courtyard was only looked onto by rows and rows of empty bedrooms.

Just as we were about to crash into the wall, Peter twisted, and stuck to it with a landing as light as if we hadn’t even been falling. Within seconds, we were upon the flat roof, then over it and abseiling down the other side. We dropped to the ground on a half deserted street and I forced myself to let go.

He grinned at me, and I realised that perhaps he had missed that just as much as I had.

“We’re so screwed if your dad finds out. To the pizza place?” he asked, and we set off.

We were about halfway there when I realised that something was definitely, unquestionably wrong. “Where is everyone?” I asked.

He tensed, as if he had been waiting for the question. “Centres,” he said finally. “Most of them are at centres.”

“Centres? Centres for what? Like, unemployment centres?”

He shrugged. “Kinda. They’re for the people who were… gone. It’s so people can get their death certificates revoked, and you know, for all the people who haven’t got any living relatives anymore.”

I frowned. “Oh, shit,” I said. “I didn’t think about all of that. That must be…”

He nodded. “Mr Stark got it done quicker for me and all the other SI employees and Avengers, but for everyone else… They’re getting the lawyers and the doctors through first, so they can help with everything else. But the majority of the people who aren’t considered ‘useful’ are pretty much stuck until they get through. Credit cards don’t work. Bank accounts were shut down. Houses were sold. It’s pretty… different.”

There was an undercurrent to his tone. Something torn—but torn between what, I couldn’t tell. Then again, he had been one of the ‘dusted’. Coming back was probably just as difficult for him as losing him was for us.

“You wanna talk about it?” I asked, and almost winced at how fake my casual tone sounded.

He shook his head. I didn’t miss the tiny sideways glance of surprise. I wondered how many people had stopped to ask him whether he was okay. After the battle—and with Tony and me unconscious—and with the world falling apart around us, I doubted that had been a priority for everyone. It should have been, though. _I_ knew that Dad had only gone through with the Time Heist to get Peter back. That proved how important he was.

But I let it drop. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have to. And I could only imagine how it must feel to be offered counselling by a girl who, until a few days ago, had been six years younger than you.

“How’s Aunt May?” I asked abruptly.

He smiled, and there I saw _genuine_ happiness. “Yeah, she’s good,” he said. “I think she’s in shock. Didn’t expect me back, and all. She’s been hanging out in the hospital a lot to be near me. Course, that means she’s near all the Avengers now, too, but she’s barely blinked at that. The other day, she told off Captain America for eating with his mouth open.”

I grinned. I would have payed to see that. But there was one thing… “All the _other_ Avengers, you mean.”

“What?”

“You said all the Avengers. You mean all the _other_ Avengers. Besides you. Cause you’re an Avenger, Pete.”

“Well, no—I mean, not really—I mean, it was only a few days ago—it doesn’t really count—“

“Pete, my Dad flew a nuke through a wormhole when he had only been an Avenger for a few days. I’m pretty sure no one told _him_ that it didn’t count.”

“That’s _different_ —“

“Oh, yeah? How?”

He was silent.

I grinned. “Thought so. You just have serious self-confidence issues.”

He glared at me. I grinned back.

We turned the corner towards the pizza place. It was, thankfully, one of the few places that was open. The rest of the world was grey and empty, the usually-bustling streets dead.

The restaurant was pretty empty, too. Two girls sat in the corner, barely eating as they cried at each other. One of them had been dusted, I would bet. I tried to ignore them as we waited for our pizza. Peter’s eyes kept drifting towards them.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, when his short attention span had become annoying.

He glanced back. “I was thinking no one could say that Mr Stark’s not a hero now.”

I smiled. “That’s true. ‘Course, it’s not like he cares what anyone else thinks. He just cares what _we_ think, and the rest of the team.”

“Hey!” he said. “You’re not technically part of the team. You’re _not_ an Avenger.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Dude, I saved the world. Sort of.”

“Yeah, and you’re not doing it again.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, you’re, like, twelve! You can’t just go out there and—do that stuff!”

“ _You_ did,” I pointed out.

“That’s different. You almost got killed doing it this time. I _never_ almost got killed. Besides, I was fourteen.”

“Yeah, and I’m fifteen. I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on this one.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, fine. But don’t think I don’t know that Mr Stark took away your suit. And you seriously _can’t_ go out there without your suit.”

I shrugged as the pizzas were set down in front of us. I stuffed a piece in my mouth without bothering to wait for it to cool, and swallowed, ignoring the burning in my throat. “Actually,” I said as a piece of cheese slid down my chin. “I kinda wanted to talk to you about that.”

Peter stopped in the middle of a bite and stared at me. “What do you want?” He asked, his voice hesitant.

I grinned at him. “I want you to help me break into my school so I can retrieve the suit I stashed there for emergencies.”

Peter’s chair scraped back and he shook his head furiously. “No way. Noooo way. I am _not_ doing that. Mr Stark will kill me. He’ll kill us both! We can’t just do that! Besides, why do you even have a suit at your school? What are you even thinking? You can’t—“

“Peter,” I said, calmly taking another bite of pizza. “I’m going to do it anyway. _But_ , if you help me get the suit back, I _promise_ that I’ll tell you where I’m going and let you help me if I need it.”

He stood for a second, staring around. The girls in the corner were still crying and the servers were in the kitchen, meaning that no one had heard the little outburst. If they had, they probably would have realised that when Peter said ‘Mr Stark’, he actually meant _Anthony Edward Stark._ After a second, he sat, leaning forward.

“This is crazy,” he said in a low voice. “You could get hurt, Liv. You could be _killed_.”

“Peter, you gotta let me do this. _With great power comes great responsibility,_ huh? You would be mad if my dad tried to stop you. So don’t do the same to me.”

He was silent for a second. “You know,” he said, “I could just tell Mr Stark that you have a suit and then you wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“Yeah,” I said, “You could. But I’m a Stark. Do you really want to bet that I won’t create my own suit, or find some other way to do this? And when I _do_ , would you rather that I kept it a secret from everyone, or that there was someone I trusted enough to tell because I knew he wouldn’t tattle?”

Peter sighed, and I could see that he was defeated. I picked at the last slice of my pizza, waiting for him to admit it. I was starting to think that I shouldn’t have eaten it so quickly.

“Okay, whatever,” he said. “But if you’re hurt, Imma tell Mr Stark. I’m serious!”

I grinned at him. “Yeah, but I won’t get hurt. Anyway, let’s go.”

I folded some bills and tucked them under the plate, snagging Peter’s two pieces as we walked out. “You gotta eat this,” I said, passing it to him with two napkins wrapped around it. “Dad told me about your crazy metabolism. We can’t have yous starving to death before we get there.”

“Ha, ha,” he replied, but grudgingly chewed at the pizza. “So, where do you go to school now?”

I glanced at him sideways. “Midtown,” I replied. “Same as you, now.”

He faltered for just a second, but I saw it. Then he was walking again.

“Sophomore?”

I nodded.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s pretty good. A lot smaller, now. Very science-y. I kinda thought there would be more variation.”

He looked at me. “But you like science.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want it to be the only thing that I do. I don’t just want to be a smaller, female version of Dad.”

He muttered something under his breath that was probably a well-meaning insult at either of us. I grinned.

Minutes later, the school appeared in front of us. We came to a stop next to the fence. “Right,” I said. “Operation Suit Rescue is underway.”

“Can’t you just walk in and get it?” he asked.

“Spring break,” I replied. “The school’s closed. We can’t get in. Or at least, we’re not supposed to be able to get in.”

“And—and why, exactly are we trying to _break into your school_?”

“To get my suit.” I strode forwards over the playing field.

Peter appeared, walking sideways beside me. “I _get_ that. But, like, why can’t you get it at the start of the semester?”

“I want to work on it.”

Peter blanched. “You want to _what?_ ”

“Well, when I got it, it was ‘cause Dad threw it out. Apparently he messed up some of the coding and it was easier to throw out and start again than to fix. But I _can_ fix it. I bet I’ll even make a few improvements.”

“You _can’t!_ If it doesn’t work, you could—you could die.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. Anyway, give me a leg up, will you. I need to unlock that window.”

Peter gave me a look before gripping me around the waist and sticking to the wall only centimetres away from the window.

“Yeah,” I said. “That works, too.”

I pulled my bracelet off and stuck it through the rim of the window. It melted sideways, the nanoparticles splitting and reforming in the lock, pulling it open. I smiled in satisfaction and pulled myself through the window into my chemistry classroom.

“You don’t think someone’s going to see you?” Peter asked.

“I don’t think anyone’s paying attention,” I replied, ducking around the corner into the corridor as Peter vaulted in through the window.

“This school really needs better security,” Peter muttered as he followed me through the corridors to my locker. He was turning as he walked, scanning the corridors and peering through doorways. “They got new desks,” he said, pausing at the door to a physics classroom.

I glanced back as I keyed my code into my locker. “Oh, yeah. Last year.” The door swung open and I smiled in satisfaction. The box was still tucked away behind my files. I opened it and studied the jewellery. Small purple earrings that could easily be hidden by my hair if they were in my cartilage piercing, a pair of silver chain bracelets with purple inlay, and a matching necklace that hung low enough to not be visible unless I wanted it to.

Jewellery on, I wandered back towards the window we had opened, Peter still trailing behind. When I got to the classroom, I looked back and realised that he wasn’t behind me. “Peter?” I called.

“Here,” his voice echoed from around a corner. I followed it to see him standing, staring, at locker 1184.

I took a step closer. His eyes were glassy, pensive. Pained. “You okay?”

“This is—This was my locker,” he replied. “It’s not anymore.”

I hesitated. I didn’t think that he wanted me to say, _I’m sure you can have it back in August_. That probably wasn’t what he was looking for. This wasn’t about a locker. This was about the five years of his life he had lost. No, not _his_ life—he was still 16. He hadn’t lost anything. It was five years of everyone _else’s_ lives he had lost.

“We didn’t ever forget you,” I said after a minute. “Not ever. We had to carry on, but we never forgot.”

His expression didn’t change. Had I said something wrong? What was _right_ in this situation? Did he want to know that we had mourned him for five years, did he want to have been at the forefront of our minds all day, every day? Or did he want to think that when he was gone, we carried on living?

He tore himself away and brushed past me back towards the window. He jumped out of the window, and I rushed to it, sticking my head out of the window to see him stalking away across the field. I pushed down my annoyance and looked down. I was only one storey up. That was manageable.

I pushed my legs out of the window until I was hanging by my finger tips and squeezed my eyes shut before I fell. My ankle twisted as I landed, but I gritted my teeth shut and held my wrist against my ankle. “FRIDAY,” I whispered. “Give me a brace.” The bracelet melted off my wrist and folded itself around my ankle until I could stand again. Peter was already halfway across the field. I sighed. “No chance of some boots? Some thrusters to help me catch up?”

FRIDAY didn’t respond.

I sighed. “Didn’t think so,” I muttered, and set off towards Peter. “Hey!” I shouted. “You’re not allowed to ditch me. Wait there!”

He didn’t turn or say anything, but he stopped three-quarters of the way across the field. I limped towards him, trying not to wince as I walked. I came to a stop behind him.

“You gonna tell me anything you’re thinking, or am I supposed to guess?” I asked.

He was silent. I could see from his shoulders, his jaw, the very set of his muscles, that something was wrong. Well, if I hadn’t already been able to tell that.

“Hey,” I said, softer this time, touching his arm as I walked around in front of him. “You gotta tell me, Peter. I’m not a mind reader. Yet.”

He sighed, staring over my shoulder into the distance. “It’s pretty stupid,” he replied. There was a hint of _something_ in his voice, along the line of anger or annoyance, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at me.

“Stupid is my middle name. Hit me.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. Achievement. He wouldn’t have done that if he was properly pissed. “I don’t even know. I mean, you guys had it hard. You guys were the ones that… You guys were the ones that lost people. I shouldn’t…”

“You’re allowed to hurt, too, Pete. Besides, it’s not like you’re out of line at the moment. Every single person left behind after the snap last year was a wreck for months. Hell, I’m pretty sure that Dad only started getting out of bed because he knew it terrified me to see him like that. We _all_ are messed up, Peter. You don’t have to be strong, or whatever. And you’ve lost just as much as the other half have. It’s different, yeah, but it doesn’t mean that you aren’t allowed to hurt.”

He nodded, his jaw relaxing at last. “I guess. It’s just… I was supposed to _be there_ , you know? For May, and for Mr Stark and Pepper, for you… You know Morgan calls me her big brother? Apparently that’s what Mr Stark told her. And I’m happy about that, I really am, but… She’s four, and she’s spent this entire time thinking she had some older brother that was dead. What does that do to a kid? I mean, I should have been there for her. And I wasn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “To be fair, I don’t really think that you can blame yourself.”

He huffed a laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. It’s just… I always used to think about what it would be like when I was at college. Coming back here for the holidays, working with Mr Stark in his labs, taking May out for dinner, helping you with your work… ‘Course, there wasn’t a Morgan then, but… That’s not what it’s going to be like. When I’m in college, you will be too. This just… My life has changed so completely in just a few _days_ for me.”

“If you really want, you can still help me with my work. You can do it all, if you want, because I'm just _that generous_.”

He pointed at me. “No. You’re still doing your work. You’re probably smarter than me now. You can do _my_ work. No slacking on your end.” He started walking again and I almost sighed in relief. He wasn’t going to have a full-on breakdown, then. I wasn’t sure I could deal with that. It was weird for me, too. I hadn’t ever comforted Peter before. I had pretty much avoided him, before the snap. I had thought he was going to replace me in the family. Then Morgan came along and I figured out that parents could love more than one kid.

“I don’t do _slacking_. I just have better things to do than homework.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’m offended that you don’t believe me.”

“Sure, sure.” He glanced down at his watch and I forced back my smile. I knew what was coming. He looked around at the empty streets before back at me. “You wanna swing back? I don’t wanna get in trouble with Mr Stark if he finds out we were gone.”

“We’ll just tell him we were getting pizza. Which is true, to be fair. But _yes.”_

He ducked into an alley and pulled off his shirt and jeans to reveal his Spiderman suit—the traditional one, rather than the Iron Spider. That was nice. Taking it back to before all the shit went down. He folded the clothes and I held them pressed between my body and his as he swung me back home, this time with his hand around my waist rather than me being stuck to his back like a baby panda.


	5. Family dinner

"Kids! It’s dinner! You coming?” Tony’s voice echoed down into the lab.

“Up in a minute!” I shouted back over my shoulder, still typing and not taking my eyes off the screen. The strings of code filled the screen from top to bottom, exactly as I had planned them. “Done,” I said in satisfaction as I hit enter.

“For the record,” Peter grumbled from where he sat crosslegged on a stool beside me, “I still think this is stupid.”

“Of course _you_ do,” I replied, pulling the USB from the laptop and watching as it melted into bracelets and earrings, this time green. Dad wouldn’t even recognise them.

Peter frowned. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean? Of course _I_ do? What do you mean?”

I grinned and stood up, closing the windows on my laptop and shutting the lid. “It’s dinner time. Don’t you want dinner? We can stay down here and talk about it all evening if you want, but _I,_ for one, am pretty hungry.”

Peter glared at me, but gave in and unfolded himself from his position. Food always got him moving. Always had, always would. With a super-fast metabolism, that was probably fair.

I ran up the stairs, and just steps away from the top, Peter appeared beside me. “That’s not fair,” I said. The white line of his webs ran from his wrist to the ceiling just above the stairs. “That’s _cheating_.”

He grinned at me as he walked backwards towards the dining room. “We can stay here and talk about it all evening if you want, but _I,_ for one, am pretty hungry.”

Oh, damn. He was going to get payback for that.

Tony’s stuck his head around the door. “Pete, we talked about this, remember? No webbing inside the house!”

Peter froze. “Yes, Mr Stark—sorry, Mr Stark. I’ll clean it up right away.”

I snorted, and Tony’s laughter could be heard from the kitchen. “You’re cute. It’s hilarious.”

“Hey, I’m still older than you. You don’t get to call me _cute_.”

“If you’re old, how come you’re scared of my dad?”

“I never said _old—_ and I’m not scared of your dad! Why would you—uh, why would you think that?”

“How about because you can hardly form a coherent sentence around him? Well, unless you’re in a life-or-death situation, in which case I hear you tend to speak much more than necessary.”

Peter faltered in the doorway. I almost cursed. _Stupid_. ‘Life-or-death situation?’ Really? Did I really have to say that, considering Peter had _literally died_ , only a few weeks ago?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine.” His voice was quiet. Low. _Shit_. “Hey, Mr Stark, can I help carry the dishes over?”

He disappeared into the kitchen, the murmurs of conversation carrying back to me. Shit. Way to go, me. I sighed. I needed to think more carefully before speaking. That would definitely be helpful.

I helped carry the pasta and side dishes through to the dining room, where Pepper and Morgan were already sitting. “Hey, Squirt.” I poked her in the stomach as I sat down beside her. “What have you been up to today?”

“I did drawing. I did drawing of _you._ ”

“Did you really?” She always managed to make me smile. “Can I see?”

She shook her head vigorously, her cheeks puffing out. “Secret drawing.”

I laughed as I piled spaghetti onto my plate. “Is it really? Was it a good drawing?”

“The best,” Morgan proclaimed. At the head of the table, out of Morgan’s view, Pepper was shaking her head and mouthing, _It really wasn’t_. I smiled.

Peter and Dad sat down opposite and there was silence for a few minutes as we all served our food and started eating. “Good sauce, Dad,” I said after a minute.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wait— _you_ made this?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound so surprised? Didn’t think I could cook, huh? How insulting. Or is it ‘cause I just got out of hospital? You know, that never stopped me doing anything before.”

“No, no! I just didn’t know that you were such a…”

“Such a what? Such an old man now?”

I laughed. Peter was going pink. “Stop embarrassing him, Dad. What he really means is that he didn’t know you’d become so _domestic_ over the last few years. I bet you haven’t told him about the vegetable gardens or the fishing weekends either, have you.”

Peter’s eyes widened further, but his mouth was full. He didn’t say anything, which was perhaps smart, as Tony was glaring at me with narrowed eyes. “I’ve earned it,” he said. “Which one of us has saved the world, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a group effort.” I tried to keep my expression serious. It didn’t work very well.

Tony glared a bit more. “Yeah, well,” he said. “No more fishing weekends for a while, anyway. Back to the city it is, tomorrow. Who’s excited? You excited, Squirt?”

Morgan paused in her wriggling and turned towards Tony, her fave covered in tomato sauce. “Can we go to the zoo again? I want to see the pannas.”

“You want to see the pannas? Really? What’s a panna?”

Pepper gave him an exasperated look. “Tony. Be _nice_.”

Tony grinned at her. God, they were so in _love,_ those two. It was always surprising. Vomit-inducing. I looked away and caught Peter’s eye across the table. He looked just as uncomfortable, his cheeks still pink.

“Yeah, we can go see the pandas. You wanna go tomorrow?”

“Yes!” Morgan cried, still spooning tomato sauce all over the table.

The smile lines around Tony’s eyes creased as he shifted his gaze. “What about you two? Feeling ready for school tomorrow?”

I almost snorted, but he was looking at Peter. Peter, whose shoulders were tight again, his eyes downcast. This was a question for Peter, not for me.

Peter glanced upward when no one answered the question, and saw the whole table looking at him. Well, Pepper, Tony and I, at least. Morgan was still drawing smiley faces on her place mat with tomato sauce. Mood, honestly.

“Me? Uh, yeah, I’m ready. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m totally ready to… get back into things. I’m ready. Why do you ask? Do I not look ready? Am I not…” He trailed off under three unconvinced gazes.

Pepper caught my eye across the table and we stood simultaneously. I stacked the now-empty bowls and she lifted Morgan, and Tony very conspicuously nodded at us as we left the room.

I slid the plates into the dishwasher and watched as Pepper wiped the tomato off Morgan’s round cheeks. Chairs scraped in the other room and I heard the front door close. Through the window, Tony appeared with one arm around Peter’s shoulders, the glint of his metal arm catching the light, and they walked towards the lake. Peter’s back was towards me, but there was something off.

“Is he going to be okay, Pep?” I asked, my voice quiet.

Pepper took a second to answer, gazing out after the man she loved and the boy that was practically his son. “I think it will take time. I think there will always be things that are we can’t understand. But when I look at that kid, I see the strongest parts of your dad. The parts that kept him going through every awful thing. Peter’s gone through some tough things, and we can’t do much more than be there for him, but he’ll get through this. We all will.”

I nodded vaguely, watching as they sat down on the bench next to the lake. Tony would never be the same, either. There were parts of him that were lighter—I could see that from the look in his eyes when he was watching Morgan that said, _I did it. I made the world safer for you._ —but there was something else new, as well. Perhaps it was just that you could never really come back to earth after seeing and holding all the power of the infinity stones. Perhaps it was more physical. He was stiff, couldn’t sit or bend as well as he used to. Maybe that was just him getting old.

Pepper lifted Morgan so she was standing on the counter in front of us, looking out onto the scene by the lake. Tony and Peter’s silhouettes, the setting sun over rippling water, swaying trees and the air that was lighter than it had been in years. Pepper’s arm pulled me into her side and I wondered if it could stay like that. The family, together again. Whole, despite the odds.

I wondered how long it would be before something would come to break us up again.

####

_The orange light of Titan turned a little greyer as Quill disappeared. There was a tug to my gut and I looked down, just in time to see my hand disintegrate into grey dust._

_“Liv? Liv!”my father called and our eyes met for one heartbeat before the world was black._

I jerked awake. Heart racing. Sharp breath. Shaking. Nightmare. Nightmare, not real.

I twisted under the covers and pushed myself to a sitting position. Brushing my hair out of my eyes, I breathed in and out and in before reaching sideways and turning my light on. _It’s not real,_ I reminded myself. _They’re back now._ _I was never on Titan. I was ten when it happened. I didn’t have a suit then, I didn’t—_

_It’s not real._

A light in the corridor clicked on and there were soft footsteps and the sound of creaking floorboards. “Dad?” I called, my voice rough from sleep.

He cracked open the door, the light forming a triangle across my carpet. "What are you doing up? Insomnia is _my_ thing.”

“Nightmare,” was all I said in reply. It was enough. I’d had them often enough over the past five years that he didn’t press. “Is Peter gone?”

He came in further, the door clicking shut behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed, his weight pulling the mattress down. “Yeah, I drove him back so we could talk to May about a couple things. You’ll see him tomorrow, though.”

“Yeah.” Tomorrow in school, when he’d be only one year above me. Weird. And probably weirder for him than it would be for me. “Did he say anything? Like, anything I should know?’

“Not really.” Tony brushed my hair out of my face and ran his worn fingers across my cheek. “Just be gentle with him. I think probably for now it’s best not to mention it all too much. He’s gonna be okay, though. Look after him.”

“Mm-hmm.” I leaned into his touch. He had changed so much over the last ten years, since I had first come. For one, he didn’t need to be forced into contact with people. He hugged. A lot.

Smile lines deepened on his face and his eyes sparkled as he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Now go to sleep or I’ll sell your laptop.”

“Sure, Dad.”

He ducked back out of the room and closed the door behind him, and I drifted into sleep.

####

Despite only a month or so having passed since the snap—two weeks of which, I had spent unconscious in a hospital bed—the school was packed. It seemed like everyone had returned and was out of the legal system already. The corridors were filled with people, and everywhere there were people crying, shouting, or in shock. Jesus Christ, you’d think they’d have got all the emotions out of the way in the time between. But, apparently not.

I pushed through the crowds, taking in faces here and there. The combination of my anti-social nature and the Stark-friendship-curse had made sure that I had had barely any friends before the snap, so it wasn’t like I had anyone to reunite with, anyway. Besides, they’d still be ten years old. Fun times.

Pressed in a doorway, glancing uncertainly over the heads of the crowd, Peter and his friend—his name was Ned, I thought—caught my eye. I crossed over to them, pushing through the people. Unusual situation, for me. Most people tended to stay at least five feet away from me, as Baby Stark.

“Hey, Peter. You’re Ned, right?”

Ned nodded, apparently speechless. So the message had got through to him, then, that I was the Stark kid. “I’m… I’m his guy-in-the-chair.”

I grinned sideways at Peter. _This_ was his back up team? But Peter wasn’t really paying attention, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked. Of course. He had friends who had been dusted. Including Ned, obviously. But there were others.

“Michelle. Michelle Jones,” he replied. “MJ. I don’t know if she…”

Ah. Yes. And friends who _hadn’t_ been dusted, presumably. That would be even worse. That category included me, apparently. But seeing as I had been younger than him to start with, and I was _still_ younger than him, it probably wasn’t as bad.

“There are lists,” I said, and Peter finally looked at me. “There’s lists up on the boards next to the cafeteria, and other ones outside physics, I think. You can check. If you want.”

Peter nodded, and we began to push through the crowds again. I was starting to get a headache from all the shouting and crying. It was getting hot, too, with all the crowds and the bodies and _ugh_. Tiring. I wondered if the teacher:student ratio would be higher or lower than before. Would the classes have doubled in size, or doubled in number?

There was an even bigger group around the notice boards, but I was turned sideways and crouched, ducking under arms and bags. The lists were alphabetised, and I was looking at the list of those that had been dusted and were back in school. There were other, shorter, but still very much present lists of those who had been dusted and were going to a different school, and those who were dusted and hadn’t been found yet. If your friends were among the number who had survived, only to kill themselves out of guilt… Apparently you just had to find out via word of mouth..

 _Michelle Jones._ I scanned the list. There was a Maddie Brown, Margaret Carter, Marie Claire, Mary Jane Watson, and—yes—there. Michelle Jones. Junior.

I turned and twisted back under the arms and between hugging couples to Peter and Ned. “She’s here,” I said. “Michelle Jones, Junior year.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get the words out, Flash appeared behind him. Flash _Thompson_. The young gym teacher who half the girls crushed on. I didn’t. Because I knew that he was a real jackass.

“Parker,” he said, his eyes wild with glee, and Peter’s eyes shut as if he was warding off a particularly bad memory. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Peter turned slowly, stepping back to my side. “Flash,” he said, sounding particularly bored.

“That’s ‘Mr Thompson’ to you, Penis. Oh, I’m so sorry. I meant, _Peter_.” He grinned as if it was a particularly funny joke. Peter meanwhile, was staring with a furrowed brow at Flash’s shoulder, where the school crest sat on a regulation gym shirt. “Anyways, shouldn’t you be in class? I bet you can’t wait for gym later today. I got a great lesson planned out for you."

I put my arm through Peter’s and tugged him sideways through the emptying corridors. He looked ready to either die of boredom or punch Flash, and neither one of those would be great. However, there was a third, and much _worse_ option, that Flash might bring up something about the Dusting, and that could put Peter in a pretty bad place, so—

“Don’t you think it’s a real shame that when Iron Man and the Hulk undid the snap they brought _everyone_ back? I mean, couldn’t they have just brought back the fit ones, and left the idiots like you to stay wherever you were?”

Peter froze. _Shit_. His face was blank, staring at the ground in front of him, but there was something in his eyes that wasn’t good. On his other side, Ned looked just as worried as I was pissed.

I turned back to face Flash, and he paled as he caught sight of me. Too busy watching Peter to realise that I was a Stark, clearly. “Hey, Flash,” I said. “That’s a really good idea, actually. Maybe I should ask my dad to go back and change it so _only_ the people like Peter get brought back, and the assholes like you, who the world would be better of without, end up stuck in space somewhere, listening eternally to bad film music, and eating only boiled potatoes. Sounds pretty boring to me, but clearly ‘cause you’re _so funny_ , I’m sure you’d be able to entertain yourself.”

He paled visibly. “You—you wouldn’t.” Then, as if realising that there were still a few students in the corridor, and they were _all_ watching him get terrified by a fifteen year old, he straightened up. “Detention.”

I frowned. “Wait a sec, let me ask my dad. Oh, what a shame. He says no. Do I need to get him to call the principal and explain why I shouldn’t get detention for speaking back to a teacher who bullies students, or will you leave the kids at this school in peace for once?”

His eyes darted between Peter—who was still silent, but at least he was staring at the argument rather than the floor—Ned—who had one hand on Peter’s shoulder and was watching me with an expression of awe—and me, with my hand on my hip and my sweetest smile on my lips.

“You really got to have a _girl_ fighting your battles, Penis?” Flash said, but I was sure it sounded weak even to his ears.

“Peter doesn’t need me to do anything. He’s smarter than you _and_ stronger than you, and he could beat you up—either physically or mentally—in about two seconds. He’s just way too nice to embarrass you in front of everyone.” I turned and linked arms with Peter again. We really were going to be late to our first classes, but who cares? “I, however, have no such qualms. See you around, Flash! If you’re _really_ nice, I might even call Iron Man in to give you a certificate and a lollipop.”

I winked at one of the kids from the year below me. She stared back open-mouthed, and clearly pleased. I wondered how many kids Flash had humiliated this year. If he didn’t stick to his promise—well, the promise I had made on his behalf—then I definitely wouldn’t hesitate to get the whole Avengers gang into the principal’s office. If he was _really_ bad, I might even call Pepper. He would deserve it, anyhow.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Peter said in a low voice next to me.

“Why, ‘cause he’s gonna make my life hell? I’m pretty sure he’s too scared of me now to make _anyone_ ’s life hell.”

“Are you kidding, dude? That was the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen!” Ned exclaimed from Peter’s other side. I flashed him a grin, but Peter ignored him.

“Exactly! You used your reputation against him! That’s— _wrong._ You can’t just—”

“I can’t, because there was a misbalance of power and I took advantage of it? Yeah, well, that sounds mighty similar to a _teacher_ using his power against _children_. But I don’t know _anyone_ who’d do _that_ around here, so I guess it must be wrong.”

Peter shook his head, wordless. I _almost_ felt bad. _Almost_. But not really, because I’d seen _his_ face after Flash’s obnoxious comments, and I’d seen the faces of every single kid in that hallway when they’d seen him humiliated. They hadn’t just been pleased, they had been vindicated. And I was sure that was because he had been a jerk to them just like to Peter.

“Don’t listen to him, Liv. I thought that was amazing. He’s deserved that since third grade.” Ned gazed at me, a mixture of fear and amazement in his expression. “This is so cool. _Two_ of my friends are superheroes.”

I smiled at him, the genuineness of it feeling almost foreign on my cheeks. He’d called me not just a hero, but his _friend,_ as well. “Thanks, Ned. That means a lot to me.”

But Peter glared at him—and then turned the full force of that glare on me. Luckily, the full force of Peter Parker’s angriest glare wasn’t exactly difficult to withstand. “You’re not a superhero. Ned, she’s not a superhero.”

“Yes, I am! Don’t forget that—“

“That was a _one time thing_ , Liv. You’re not doing anything like that ever again.”

I wondered if he was having second thoughts on the suit thing. I wouldn’t get to ask, because we had reached the languages corridor, and Ned peeled off into the AP Spanish classroom with a final wave. Peter followed him with one last backwards glance at me. I could almost hear what he would be saying if I was still right next to him. _Don’t do anything stupid until I’m around_.

I grinned at him and turned into my own classroom, Sophomore French.

The room inside was dark, the only light coming from the obnoxiously French film being projected onto the screen. Two young lovers were walking along an obnoxiously French road, wearing obnoxiously French clothes and holding an obnoxiously French picnic basket. Oh, the joys of French films.

I slid into my seat, giving a small wave to the teacher. She raised an eyebrow, but there were no other repercussions for my five minute lateness. She liked me. For something other than being a Stark. So it was fine.

Besides, no one was paying attention anyway. The entire class was split between two phases: the first was frantic chattering, catching friends up on anything that had happened over the five years or five weeks since everyone’s lives had changed. The second was blank staring. At walls, paper, phones, each other. Emptiness. I wondered how many of _those_ people had lost someone in the middle five years. Or how many of them were _still_ missing people: the ones who had been on holiday when the Snap happened, or ones whose families had moved in the intermittent years.

For how many of them was it not the loss of a person that prompted this, but instead the loss of themselves?

I wondered which category Peter was fitting into right now. I was almost sure it was the second. Had he found MJ yet? I had a cage recollection that she was the tall, dark-skinned girl who always seemed so dry and quiet. I had liked her, I realised. She’d had a sense of maturity that Peter and Ned hadn’t always showed at that point in their lives.

I pulled out a notebook and started doodling, my pen finding its way into the outline of an Iron Man suit. By the time the class was over and the projector had been shut off, I had drawn a whole row of them. They could even have been an Iron Family. Maybe I should draw a toddler-sized one for Morgan.

I snorted and the girl at my left gave me a weird look. Yeah, well. I was used to weird looks. She could suck it, anyhow.


	6. Uncle Steve

Everyone at lunch was sneaking at glances at me. I didn’t even know what for. That was something telling about my life, I thought, that I couldn’t even tell what I was weird for that day. Was it the usual Stark Touch (trademarked), or had word got out that I had been involved in the battle against Thanos, or was it a more general ‘your-dad-and-his-friend-raised-me-from-the-dead’ kind of thing, or was it my attack on Flash that morning?

Who knew, huh?

I picked at my sandwich and turned back to the book in my hand. The table was empty, as it had been since that first week, when I had spoken to no one who sat with me except to tell them that I was reading and couldn’t talk right now. Despite that it had been three years after the Snap, there were still enough people who were in complete and total shock that I had been left alone most of the time.

A tray slammed down onto the table and someone’s hand appeared right in front of my face. “I’m MJ, and I want to thank you for sticking up to that son-of-a-bitch this morning. He’s had it coming for years, and I’m just pleased that there’s now someone above him on the food chain.”

I looked up. It was, indeed, MJ. Tall, frizzy dark hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that I could never pull off, and the dry, humoured expression that I remembered from the occasional Avengers barbecues that Peter had invited Ned and her to. “Thanks. He’s a total dickhead. I kinda thought he deserved it,” I said, my lips quirking up at the corners. “I’m Liv. But I guess you kind of knew that already.”

“I did. I kinda remember you. You used to be much shorter. And cuter.”

I grinned. She didn’t pull her punches. She wasn’t afraid of offending me, or trying to impress me like most people in the school. And, as she resolutely dropped her bag under the table and sat, I could tell that she wasn’t scared of offending the rules, either. She was a junior and, no matter what last name I had, I was a sophomore. She shouldn’t be sitting with me, and yet she was. “Yeah, well, we all grow up someday, don’t we?”

Over her shoulder, I could see Peter staring at us, his eyes expertly mixing annoyance with terror. What did he think, that I was gonna give away his secret? Nah. I caught his eye and grinned again. His eyes turned pleading. I just waved him over. Ned, at his side, grinned and started towards us, his eyes wide.

MJ, meanwhile, was peering at the book in my hands. “That sounds interesting,” she said. “I haven’t heard of it before.”

“Yeah, it came out, like, two years ago. During the…” I trailed off just as Ned slid his tray down next to MJ and Peter dragged his feet towards us.

“Ah,” said MJ. She seemed to have paled a little, and she glanced down at her food.Yeah. Touchy subject, I guessed. It wasn’t as if I knew her well enough to _ask_ about anything. Hell, I didn’t even know if she had family.

“I can’t believe someone stole our table,” Peter grumbled as he sat beside me, across from Ned. “That’s so rude.”

I opened my mouth to point out the obvious, but maybe it wasn’t my place to say. After all, _I_ hadn’t been gone for five years. _I_ didn’t know what it was like to return and to have literally everything different.

“Dude, we were _gone_ for five years. You can’t really blame them.” Ned was staring longingly at a table by a window that was filled with seniors. My lungs caught in anticipation of Peter’s answer.

Peter’s expression didn’t change, and my lungs eased a little. Maybe he was going to get over this easier than I thought. “Still rude. I’m technically _older_ than them.”

“Yeah, and _I’m_ technically Pepper Potts’ daughter, but you don’t hear anyone calling me Olivia Potts, do you?” I pointed out. Peter rolled his eyes and I could tell that he was going to say something like _That’s beside the point. It’s a technicality,_ but Ned was speaking before Peter could.

“Wait, _what_?” Ned’s mouth fell open. “I thought you were… You were…”

Huh. I had kinda forgot that they were sitting there. Well, not _forgot_ , but I wasn’t used to being around such middle-ground people. Normally it was either those I was comfortable with—those I could say anything to—or it was people I didn’t know—people I said nothing to. Now that there was a mix, I was going to have to watch my mouth. “Yeah, I am,” I said, trying to figure out what to say."But social services thought that Pepper was more responsible, so she’s technically my guardian. And after a while she properly adopted me.”

“Oh. That’s cool. I think Pepper Potts is really cool. Scary to have as a mom, though. I mean, what’s it like? Do you find Pepper Potts or Tony Stark scarier? Which one of them gets angry more? Is there—”

“Ned.” Peter cut in with a low voice. “Chill, maybe?”

Cute. And I was grateful, honestly. That kind of questioning was the hardest. How do you find a balance between keeping your life private, and shutting people out? I had never really had to in the past.

“I have to go,” I said abruptly and stood, picking up my lunch. “I got… homework.”

“But we need to talk about—” Peter cut off and I realised it was probably superhero related. All the better. Meant he couldn’t try and catch me in the middle of the hall.

“Later,” I promised as I walked away. “Come over to the tower if you want. Pepper’s making risotto. We can talk at dinner.”

I almost bumped into someone as I walked backwards, and I dodged out of the way with a muttered sorry. The victim flashed a smile and I hurried off, the heat of Peter’s gaze still on the back of my neck. Yeah, I couldn’t do this. This mix between stranger and family was too difficult to deal with. With Peter, it was fine. I knew where we stood. I knew his secrets, and he knew mine. But the more I talked to the others, Ned and MJ and any other friends Peter happened to have hidden up his sleeve, the more I would get pulled into a place I didn’t want to be, where I was keeping secrets and protecting people at the same time.

Sounded quite tiring to me.

 

####

 

In the end, Peter caught up with me right when I was at the door of the tower. His hand appeared in front of me, pressing against the door just as I tried to open it. I glared at him and pulled back. The door didn’t budge. Figures. Superstrength, and all that. I probably could have tried harder, but if the door broke then it would _totally_ be me that Dad blamed.

I sighed and let the handle go, pulling out one of my headphones. “What do you want, Peter?”

“You said we could talk. I’m here.”

“I said we could talk at _dinner_. I don’t see any risotto, therefore I’m _pretty_ sure it’s not dinner time. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be out doing… things?”

Guilt flashed on Peter’s face for only a second before it disappeared.“Yeah, but—”

“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?”

I turned and jumped back. One of the guards—well, ‘doormen’, but what doormen needed to be _that_ buff?—was about two centimetres away from me, his eyes fixed on Peter. “What? No! This is Peter. Peter Parker. He can come in whenever he likes. He interns for my—for Tony. Check with FRIDAY if you want. No, he can come in whenever. Remember that, please.”

I pulled open the door and yanked Peter inside after me. “Sorry about that,” I said as I dragged him across the empty entrance hall. “It’s nothing personal. They even forgot who _I_ was once. I was standing outside for twenty-five minutes while FRIDAY came up with enough proof for them to let me in.”

“That’s okay,” Peter muttered, coming to stand beside me in the elevator and pressing the button for the family floor. FRIDAY’s scanner whirred over us and her cool voice welcomed ‘ _Olivia Stark and Peter Parker. I hope you had a good day at school_?’

“Just peachy,” I muttered. Peter gave me a sideways glance, his eyebrows half-raised in a way that I was starting to recognise. I returned his glance. “Hang on,” I said after a second and frowned. “That guy distracted me. I wasn’t gonna let you come in. Ah, you tricked me.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal our living room. It was too white, too bright for my taste. Floor to ceiling windows gave a wide view of Manhattan, but it felt more like a showroom than a home. The only thing that changed that was Morgan, stretched out on the floor by the coffee table, and Tony, sprawled across the sofa behind her.

“Liv!” she shouted, scrambling upwards as I strode ahead of Peter towards my bedroom. “Look! I got a kangaroo!” She presented a small stuffed toy for my inspection and I ruffled her hair as I passed.

“That’s great, Squirt. Hey, Dad.” I kissed him on the cheek and didn’t miss his wince at the slight movement that prompted. “You good?”

“Always,” he replied. “Just a little—stiff, that’s all.” He winced again as I helped him to a sitting position, his vibranium arm laying across the pillows beside him. I could tell that, in a very un-Stark-like fashion, he wanted to cover it up, but Shuri had told him to leave it for a while until his brain adjusted to the sensory receptors. “Hey, Pete. Whatcha doing here?”

“Hiya, Mr Stark. Well, I’m just—” Peter stammered, glancing between me and my dad.

“He’s helping me with Spanish.” I pulled a handful of cheese strings out of the fridge and tossed a pair to Peter and one to Morgan, keeping two for myself.

Tony snorted. “Yeah, right. When’s the last time you needed help with something? Pete, you should stay for dinner. Pepper’s back at five. We’re making risotto.”

“He can’t stay,” I called back, dragging Peter into my room and shutting the door behind him. I dumped my bag by my desk and switched the fairy lights above the bed on as I collapsed onto the covers. “You can sit wherever.” I pulled open the cheese string wrapper and started tearing it apart, creating a pile of yellow cheese strings on the open wrapper. “Or you can just leave. Either one works for me.”

Peter set his bag down next to the door and sat in my desk chair, leaning forward and out of the chair as if he wasn’t quite comfortable. “You know,” he said, “You used to be much… nicer.”

“Not really. I was just quieter. Just ‘cause I didn’t say it to you doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking the same things. I’m not the kind of person to say my thoughts out loud to random people.”

“Yeah, and how come that changed?”

I looked up at him. How much honesty did he want? It had probably been a semi-rhetorical question, but… I didn’t really _do_ rhetorical, at least when it was other people asking the questions. “It changed five years ago when Dad came back from space, and you didn’t, and I realised that you weren’t a random person anymore. And it changed one month ago when Doctor Banner brought you back, and I figured that you were here to stay.”

Peter was silent for a second, watching me. And, as awkward as it was, I was watching him, too, trying to gauge his reaction. I had mentioned space. I had mentioned five years. I had mentioned It. And…

He was fine. Apparently. No breakdowns.

“Right, then,” I said. “So. What _are_ you here to talk about? ‘Cause there’s a window right there, if you want to, you know, swing away.”

He glanced away, his cheeks tinged pink. “I don’t know. It’s stupid, maybe. But I feel like I gotta say it.”

“Then say it.” I studied him over my pile of cheese strings, which had started to dwindle in size.

“Stuff out there is dangerous. I don’t think you should be thinking about trying to be a superhero. You could _die_. Think about what that would do to—well, to everyone. Mr Stark, Miss—Mrs Potts, Morgan, Happy, Rhodey, _everyone._ You can’t just go out there and risk your life.”

“What happened to ‘With great power comes great responsibility’?” I asked dryly.

“But you haven’t _got_ ‘great powers’. You’re just a human.”  
“I have a suit! Same as my dad!”

“Yeah, and how many times has he come _this_ close to dying? Come on, you know what its like to have the people around you die. Don’t do that to him.”

“I’m not planning on dying, Peter.Unlike you, my main quality isn’t ‘self-sacrificial’.” I stood and walked to the window—well, the wall of windows—looking out over Manhattan. I could practically _feel_ Peter’s frustration in the room. “Come on, Peter. We’ve already discussed this bit of the job. The risk of dying isn’t going to make me stop wanting to save people. And _you_ can’t threaten me, because I’ll do it anyway, just with more danger.”

He sighed. “Okay, well, what about having friends? I saw you at lunch today; I know you were thinking about how difficult it would be to—”

I snorted. “They’re not my friends, Peter. They’re _your_ friends, who sat with me at lunch _once_. I wouldn’t say that I’m really facing an existential crisis over this yet.”

“But you were so definitely thinking about it all, weren’t you? I _know_ you were. About leading two lives… About lying to the people around you—“

“I don’t _plan_ on having people around me. I’m not going to be lying to Ned, or Michelle, or anyone, because I’m not going to be _talking_ to them. I’m fine on my own.”

“But you need—”

“Peter, I don’t _need anyone_. I’m happy you’re back, I really am, but I was perfectly fine sitting by myself at lunch for five years. I was perfectly fine being ‘the Stark kid’ and not having people around to talk to. Hell, even before I came here I never had real friends, and I was still _fine_. So thanks for your concern, or whatever this is, but it was a mistake to drag you into all this. I needed you to help me get the suit, and thanks for that, but after all, we barely know each other.”

Peter was staring at me, his eyes kinda wide. “What do you mean, we barely know each other?”

“Well, like I said, you haven’t been around for five years, and before that, we barely spoke. Anyway, I’m sorry I got you involved, but you can fuck off now. See you around.”

I yanked my bag up from beside the desk and left the room, the door swinging shut behind me. I stood still for just a second, long enough to hear the window open and then close again, and to know that Peter was gone.

I tossed the cheese string wrappers in the bin as I walked back through the kitchen and felt Tony’s eyes on me. I really hoped he hadn’t heard anything of my conversation with Peter. “I’m going down to the labs, Dad. Call me when Pepper’s back.”

“Oh, yeah? Hope you weren’t too mean to the kid; he might not come back, and then where would we be?”

“Don’t worry, he always comes back. It’s physically impossible for him to be away from you for more than 72 hours without internally combusting.”

“Understandable. Don’t break anything down there!”

The elevator doors slid shut and my shoulders slumped. So exhausting, being around people. I sighed and leaned against the side of the elevator. I didn’t like how things had been left with Peter. But wasn’t that the point? That I didn’t need him—didn’t need any of them—and therefore it didn’t matter if it had been left badly. It was years since I had had true friends. Friends for the sake of friends. I was used to being on my own. Friendship just made things messy. You had to be _nice_ to them, and _text_ them, and _see them_ , other than being at school. Even if it was more than just me being a Stark, it wasn’t easy.

Yeah, it was more simple just to go it alone.

I stepped out into the lab and made my way to my own little corner. Piles of circuit boards and stacks of paper with scrawled calculations and sketches covered my work surfaces. A couple of tables away, Peter’s Iron Spider suit lay flat against the metal. It looked like an empty casing, which I supposed it was. The table beside it was empty. Peter probably had it on right now, and was probably swinging round the city saving lives even as I stared at his second suit.

It was his first time out as Spiderman since the snap, I realised.

He’d spent all of the first week in the hospital, and then—once Tony and I were both out—at our house, or with May, or Ned. I’d kinda been wondering if not being Spiderman was something more than that, though. He had died in that suit. Well. Not that exact one. The one he had died in was right there on the table in front of me.

But he was out there, swinging around, doing exactly what had killed him last time.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and unwrapped the headphone cord around it. I was in the mood for soft music, for something meaningful, so I tapped on my Sleeping at Last albums and turned the volume up high. The cello notes rang through my ears and I unpinned my earrings, ready to tinker again.

The minutes passed in a blur. I figured out a way to unhook FRIDAY from the constant observation, whilst still keeping her available for me to contact people with until I figured out an alternative. I probably could have hooked Karen in, but that didn’t seem like the best idea given how I had left things with Peter.

 _Don’t think about Peter_ , I told myself. That was why I came down here, after all. To forget.

I turned my music up a notch higher as the song changed and really listened to the lyrics.

 

_Sweetheart, you look a little tired_

_I know exactly how your rule goes_

_Put my mask on first_

_No, I don't want to talk about myself_

_Tell me where it hurts_

_I just want to build you up, build you up_

_'Til you're good as new_

_And maybe one day, I'll get around_

_To fixing myself, too_

 

Yeah. Masks. As if we didn’t have enough of those already.

I pulled the earring/suit/memory-card out of the laptop and let it spread, forming two gloves that stretched up my wrists and ended just below my elbow. I looked down and there, too, two moss green boots had formed. I bent my knees and elbows, holding my arms out slightly before pushing off and hovering half a metre above the ground. The repulsers hissed and spat sparks, and every few seconds I wobbled. But I was pretty much there. Hadn’t done all that practise in the woods at home for nothing.

I killed the power and fell back to the floor, landing with a thump.

Yeah. It worked. As if I hadn’t known that already.

“Miss Hansen, Mrs Stark has arrived home. Mr Stark would like me to inform you that dinner will be in fifteen minutes.”

I frowned. “Fifteen minutes? What time is it?”

“It is half past six.”

“Oh,” I muttered. I’d been carried away, hadn’t noticed the time. I had been down here for over two hours. “Okay, tell them I’ll be up in a second.”

“Very good, Miss Hansen.”

I nodded, despite the fact that it was only an AI I was talking to. Yeah, well. Never hurt to be polite. Not that nodding was particularly polite. My finger hovered over the pause button and I savoured the last few seconds of music.

 

_What a privilege it is to love_

 

More like, what a privilege it is to eat dinner. Now that I thought about it, I was hungry. The gloves on my hands melted away and I pinned them back in as earrings, the rows of green jewels spread like wings. If only I had real wings. That would have been cooler than some second hand suit, but you make do, I guess.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and made my way up to the family floor, stepping out of the elevator and stopping short.

“Steve,” I said. Not _Uncle Steve_ , or the affectionate _Grandpa Steve_ I’d taken to calling him after a while. Just Steve. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

He turned, a glass of scotch in one hand and one of Morgan’s drawings in the other. He looked almost as awkward as I would have. Tony appeared around the corner of the counter and waves. “Oh, yeah, blondie decided to join us last minute. I’ve got a couple things to decide R.E. SHIELD, and I thought we could use an outside opinion.”

I looked him up and down. Normal clothes: a blue and white button-down shirt, tucked into tan trousers with leather shoes. Normal. Annoyingly normal. And _damn_ , I’d even managed to avoid him during the whole hospital ideal. “Huh,” I said, and crossed to the fridge. There was an empty space on it where Morgan’s drawing was supposed to be, and I almost pulled it away from Steve to put it back in it’s spot. I’d seen the shield that Dad had, for some reason, given back to him. _I know what happens when you take our family’s stuff._

Yeah, and I knew what had happened in Siberia, too. I’d arrived at the facility with Pepper, when we’d got the message that T’Challa, Prince of Wakanda, had called for a helicopter from Siberia after Steve and the Winter Soldier had come _this close_ to killing him. Yeah, I’d been there through the nightmares and sleepless nights and never-ending shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with sleep. I’d seen every possible layer of pain that had come from that betrayal.

‘ _Uncle Steve_ ,’ no longer, after that.

I pulled out the apple juice and took my time browsing the fridge, which had nothing at all to do with the fact that I didn’t want to turn around and see Rogers’ face.

“No Pete?” Tony asked. His voice was falsely calm. I wondered if it was taking a lot of _his_ effort, too, to not punch Steve straight in the face.

“Dunno. He went patrolling. We’ll see him or we won’t, I guess.”

“Did you leave him heartbroken?”

“Ha ha. He’s fine. Just a bit of a disagreement over school things.” I pulled out a glass and poured myself some juice, carefully avoiding either of the adults’ eyes. “Where’s Pepper? FRIDAY said she was back.”

“She is. She’s putting Morguna to bed. Tired after the zoo, and all.” Tony leaned back against the counter, a wooden spoon in his hand as he stirred the risotto.

I raised an eyebrow at him as I lifted myself onto the counter. “Isn’t it your bedtime, too, old man? After all, you _also_ had a busy day at the zoo.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at me and Steve laughed. Politely. A _polite laugh—_ how is that even possible? I looked at him sideways. Annoying as always. I bet he didn’t even have bruises after beating my father to a pulp. He was looking at Tony, whose was determinedly grating cheese, with a thoughtful expression. _Yeah,_ I wanted to say. _That’s the asshole who almost sacrificed his life to save the universe. What was it you said about him being selfish, again?_

Steve caught my eye. Caught me staring. I turned away and pulled out cutlery to start laying the table. Steve silently joined, setting glasses from the shelf at the corner of each placemat. The mighty Captain America, setting a table.

Pepper walked in after a second, still in her pencil skirt and work blouse, but without her jacket.

Tony gave her a kiss on the cheek and lifted the risotto pan off the hob to carry it to the table. It shook, and I realised that he was using his right arm. His _vibranium_ arm. The one he wasn’t supposed to be using. His jaw was tight, and there was the same steely determination in his eyes that I saw when he was saving lives. I knew that Pepper and Steve would both also have their eyes fixed on him.

He set the pan down in the middle of the table and turned to find us staring at him. He raised one eyebrow in the signature Stark way. “What? An old man can’t try out his new toy without everybody staring at him? Come sit down, or the food’s gonna get cold.”  
We sat and started eating. Tony and Pepper were talking. Discussing mundane things: Morgan’s kindergarten that started in a few days; the new Stark Industry phone that was coming out in a few days; how recovery efforts were going for those people that had been dusted in other countries and needed to come home. I wasn’t paying attention one bit. My attention—if not always my eyes—were fixed on Steve. He smiled and nodded along to what Pepper and Tony said, interjecting his own opinions every now and then. He still looked so _fake_. In the past, he had been Uncle Steve. He’d been in charge of the barbecue. With no family or friends of his own, he’d spent most of his time in the tower, and when I got back from school, he’d sit with me and we’d draw together. He’d been better than I was, but he’d never said that out loud.

But now he was Captain America. Criminal. Killer. Traitor. He’d had a big enough ego to think that he was more responsible than a UN council. He’d helped the man who killed my grandparents escape. He’d slammed his shield— _Howard’s shield_ —into Tony’s chest and come so close to killing him.

“How was your first day back at school, Liv?”

I snapped back into reality. Steve was looking at me—smiling, again—across the table. I had been staring at him. Unashamedly.

“Fine,” I replied. “We didn’t do much. I had a fun quiz on the Avengers. Didn’t even win, which was a bit of a surprise. You guys have a lot of stalkers.”

Tony snorted from where he sat beside me. “Clearly they know what’s important in life, then.”

Pepper sighed at him from opposite, but Steve’s eyes were fixed on me. “What kinda questions came up?”

“Sokovia accords,” I replied and ran my tongue over my teeth. Was it worth it, saying the words that were playing over in my mind? “The split. The reasons behind it.”

“And what did you say?”

Well, I knew what _that_ was. An invitation to say whatever the fuck he could tell I had on my mind. Yeah, well, he was going to get a piece of it whether he invited me or not. “The wrong answer, apparently. My teacher didn’t want to take “Betrayal” or “Aiding and abetting a murderer and a criminal” as right answers.”

Dad leaned forward, and I didn’t want to look at him. His voice was semi-casual, but it held enough of _cut-the-bullshit_ that I knew he was being serious. “Olivia Stark, if you don’t shut up right now—“

“Tony, let her talk,” Steve said in his perfect Captain America voice. God, he disgusted me. The entire world saw this facade that was a lie. He stood for freedom, for ‘what the people wanted’, but then when one hundred and fifty fucking countries voted for the Accords, what had he done? “Whatever she has to say is probably true.”

 _Yeah, too right it’s true._ “You betrayed my father. And now you just sit here, in our home, and pretend it never happened? You weren’t there, Steve—you didn’t see him. But Pepper and I did. I saw the—the nightmares and the brokenness and the guilt and fear and loss that he felt every single second because _you left him_. He _depended_ on you. And you chose Bucky over him. I don’t care that he didn’t have a choice when he killed. You did, and you still chose to leave Tony dying in the middle of an abandoned military base in Siberia. Even before that, you betrayed him by not telling him the truth. Your friend killed his mom and dad. He killed my grandparents. And then you almost killed my dad.”

Steve’s eyes were earnest. God, why couldn’t he make this easy, at least? Instead, he had to sit there looking soft and apologetic, when I knew that if he really regretted what he’d done, he would have come back years ago. “I know,” he said in that accent. “And I’m sorry. But Bucky was fighting in self-defence—”

“Self-defence? Don’t pull that bullshit with me, Rogers. If it was self-defence, you would have waited until he was down and then run. You would have knocked him out or tried to talk to him. But instead you fought him, two against one, until he couldn’t get up. You know T’Challa had to fly him back? In one of his secret Wakandan jets? But it was fine—he couldn’t give up any of their secrets—because he was unconscious the entire journey. Because of _you_.”

I stood, my chair scraping against the floor. Stupid move. Now I had to go somewhere. But where could I go? Not to my room; that would just make me seem like a moody teenager, when really this needed to be said. This had been mulling in my mind for seven fucking years. This wasn’t a spur of the moment attack of grumpiness. I couldn’t go back to the labs, because then I’d just sit mulling for hours, or—worse—Pepper would just come down fifteen minutes later and we’d ’have a talk’, and I’d have to come back upstairs.

So, to the outside world it was.

Pepper, diagonally opposite, stood with me. I caught her eye and realised that she was torn, too. The things I thought, she had thought too. But Pepper at her core was anti-confrontational, and I had just managed to ruin the entire evening by picking a fight with a super soldier. “Why don’t we all just—”

Steve stood silently but suddenly, and Pepper broke off. He set his napkin down on the table beside his half-finished plate of risotto and murmured to Pepper, “I should go.”

She glanced between him, me, and Tony, who I was resolutely not looking at. My throat was tightening with something too akin to guilt. Not for Steve—he deserved everything I’d said—but for Tony. I’d probably dragged up every single one of his worst memories.

“No,” I said. My voice was sharp and foreign, even to myself. “Stay. I’m sorry, Dad.”

I rounded the table and crossed to the elevator, trying to go as fast as possible whilst still resolutely in a non-sulking manor. I wasn’t fleeing or backing down. I was walking away from a battle I had won. God, when had it come to this? I was so fucking dramatic. But maybe, when you lived in a world of superheroes and aliens, that was to be expected.

The atmosphere in the room was completely dead, silent as I pressed the button and the room disappeared from view. Pepper and Steve stared after me, Tony had his eyes fixed on the watch at his wrist. Right as the doors closed I heard Pepper’s strangled, “Liv—”


	7. Rooftops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised that because I was using HTML rather than rich text, all the formatting (italics and stuff) on previous chapters was gone, so sorry about that and I will do it properly from now on

“Hey, Peter,” I said, my voice flat. I was getting kind of cold, and my denim jacket wasn’t thick enough to keep the wind off.

“Liv,” Peter replied, his voice flustered. He clung to the side of the building, not sitting or standing, as if he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be doing. “What are—what are you doing up here?”

I didn’t look at him. “Just chilling,” I said. He kinda had a point. I was sitting on the roof of an office block, my legs dangling off the side. I _may_ have used my repulsers to get up here, but so what? That was just because I couldn’t be bothered to take the stairs.

Peter crossed his arms. He clearly didn’t know how ridiculous he looked, standing sideways on the wall as if it were normal. “Does Mr Stark know you’re here?” he asked, his voice small.

“Probably.” I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Peter jumped forward—upward?—as if I was going to fall and he needed to catch me. “He has a pretty omnipotent AI, as well as being one of the smartest people alive. I’m fairly sure he can find me if he wants to.”

Peter hmphed. After a moment, probably when he realised that I wasn’t going to elaborate, he glanced behind him at the ground, and up and down the street. When there was nothing that needed his attention, he walked upwards towards me before settling beside me on the edge of the roof. “Are you alright?” he said, still unsure.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Fine, thanks. How’s patrolling been?”

My words from earlier were still echoing in my mind. _Thanks for your concern, or whatever this is, but it was a mistake to drag you into all this. I needed you to help me get the suit, and thanks for that, but after all, we barely know each other._ Yeah, well. I wasn’t about to let him prove me wrong. But my throat was still narrow and constricting, and I couldn’t help but feel like this was the kind of situation where you might actually _want_ a friend.

“Yeah, it’s been good. Real good. There was a little girl who got lost. I took her back to her apartment and her mom made me hot cocoa.”

He went silent as if he’d just realised something. I kinda wanted to ask what. I didn’t.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens sounded. I glanced sideways at Peter but he stayed sat where he was. “Shouldn’t you get that?” I asked, my tone carefully flat.

“Nah,” he replied. “Karen says it’s just an old woman who fell over. Spider-man can’t help with that.”

I looked forward again and tried to ignore that I was relieved. Relieved about what? I mean, damn, it wasn’t as if I _needed_ him here. Of course not.

“You know, you don’t have to do this on your own,” he said after a silence.

I frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to do this on your own.”

“Do _what_ on my own?” I knew I sounded stuck-up. I hated it. Peter deserved better. But he was being so goddamn nosy! I didn’t need him to do this—to try and make things better. He didn’t even know what had happened.

“Life.”

I snorted. “I didn’t know you were a hippie, Peter.”

“You don’t have to do _that_ either. Make jokes about it. That’s what Mr Stark does. You shouldn’t.”

“Well, my dad’s a leading voice in many fields so I guess I’ve learned from the best.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“Doing what?” I feigned confusion. Wow. I was being a real _bitch_. Made me proud of myself.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know, for a long time I used to do the same thing? I guess I still kinda do. Drives May up the wall. For a long time I didn’t want friends either. You build the wall up so they can’t hurt you? Yeah, I used to do the same.” He was rubbing his hands together, his thumb pressed into the other hand’s palm. Some kind of stress relief thing? Was I stressing him out?

“Is this when you break out the ‘When I was your age’ speech, and then realise that you’re only one year older than me?” I said. He didn’t laugh. Well. Shit, I guess.

“You know, I didn’t want anyone to care about me—and I didn’t want to care about anyone, cause if you care about them you can get hurt. My parents. Uncle Ben. Almost Mr Stark. And certain… other things. But my point is, you need other people. The Avengers have each other. Mr Stark has Mrs Potts. I got Ned and Mr Stark and May. You need people, and I’m pretty sure you don’t feel like you’ve got them at the moment. I just think you need to know that there are people who want to support you. And you just have to—Oh, hey, Mr Stark!”

He spun, and I followed just a second later. Oh, _shit_. There was my dad, in his normal suit over a graphic tee, standing on the roof of an office block, looking _very_ annoyed.

“Thanks, Peter,” I squeaked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” he replied, his voice several tones higher than usual. “I have to… go.”

He jumped backwards off the side of the building. I would have been worried if I didn’t see the familiar flash of red and blue disappearing into the distance.

“Hey, dad,” I said, turning back to look at the view.

“Hello there, child who just ran away from home,” he replied, and I heard his footsteps near until he was right behind me.

“I didn’t run away from home! I just wanted some air.”

“Steve left.”

I tensed and ran my tongue over my front teeth. I hated apologising. Not that I was at all sorry—to Steve, at least. To my dad, I was. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. Even to me, it sounded sarcastic.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that you can come home now.”

I bit down on my tongue and forced myself to take a breath. Why were conversations like these always so difficult? It didn’t even sound like he was mad at me. And I didn’t think that I was mad at him, but then again—he was the one who had let Steve into our home. “Okay,” I forced myself to say, and stood. Behind me, Tony was reaching forward slightly as if I was going to fall off the roof. I stepped back and he waited until the door was shut and we were in the stairwell before relaxing.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he said, his voice shaking as he pointed at me. His eyes were fierce, and shining.

“Do what?” I frowned.

“Leave the house after an argument, and go and sit on a _roof_! We—Pepper thought you were going to _jump!”_

I stared at him. “Jump? Why would I jump? I hate _Steve,_ not myself.”

He stared back, eyes wide, before his arms were around me and I was crushed against his chest, my arms pressing into my chest between us. “Dad,” I said, my voice muffled by his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Nope.” His tone was final, even as he let me go and pulled me down to sit on the top step beside him. “We are going to _talk_ about this, because you cannot just _do_ that. You terrified Pepper—you terrified _me_. The only reason Pep isn’t here right now is because Morgan woke up just after you left.”

“Dad, it’s fine,” I repeated but he didn’t seem to notice. “I just—I hadn’t seen Rogers since everything happened, and I couldn’t help it. I just—Do you really think he should be allowed into our _home_? With Morgan so close, and…”

Tony frowned, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand. “I’ll admit, I’m not his biggest fan either at the moment. And I know that standing up to an army of aliens doesn’t absolve all the rest of his sins, but he isn’t going to hurt Morguna. ” Tony replied. “What happened seven years ago was a mess. And it sucks that you had to see the… aftermath… of that particular event, but it isn’t going to happen again.”

I was resolutely not looking at Tony. My eyes were fixed on a point on the wall above his head where a black stain stood against the grey cement. “I didn’t realise it was seven years ago.”

“Yeah, I’m an old man now.”

I kinda laughed. Not really. Sounded a bit more like I was being strangled. But oh, well. “Do you… trust him?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer. He wouldn’t choose to hurt us. He would fight to protect us. But I think that if he had to choose between me, and his friend Barnes, he wouldn’t choose me. But I also think that he’s grown up since 2016. The world’s not as black and white as it used to be.Sometimes, it’s not about making the right choice. It’s about making a third option. We both know that now. So, yes, I suppose I do trust him.”

I swallowed. That wasn’t, to be honest, what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that Tony didn’t trust him; that he kept tabs on him 24/7; that he was never allowed near any of my family without several AI-piloted iron suits nearby.

“But you don’t have to trust him, Liv. You just have to trust _me,_ that I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you or Morgan or Pepper. And you have to get over this, because resentment is corrosive, and you should hate it.”

“Isn’t that a bit counterproductive? You know, if you hate hate, then that resentment would be corrosive, too.”

“Did you know that it’s my Stark blood that makes you a genius?”

I laughed and, though it was strained, it was enough. Tony laughed a little too, and the tension was broken. And I hadn’t even cried. So proud. I stood, not really caring that much whether Tony was done, and started walking. He followed, and we walked in silence. There was still a sick, dreading feeling in my gut. I didn’t need to bother Tony with it.So I didn’t trust Steve? I guess my dad was right. I didn’t have to. After all, what was the saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. I semi-agreed with what Dad had said about his allegiances, but even if Steve did end up an enemy, at least I wouldn’t be caught off guard.  
“You didn’t come in a suit?” I asked when we reached the ground floor. I had been expecting him to fly us back home, but instead he approached a non-descript black car and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Destroyed them,” he replied. “I’m too old for that. Also, as it happens, and totally unrelated because of _course_ I would have given up the suit anyway, I can’t figure out how to get it working around the vibranium. Something about the sensitivity of the surface…” He wandered off into complex biomechanical genius talk and I didn’t bother with the effort it would have taken to keep up with him. Instead I just watched the world pass by around us as he drove us back to the tower.

###

The next few weeks passed in a blur. I went to school and stayed by myself. Ned and MJ gave up after a few days of my abrupt, abrasive goodbyes, and since they were Juniors and I was a Sophomore, I didn’t see them much anyway. Peter still tried to catch me. I heard him calling my name in corridors, and I’d weave through the crowds and duck into empty classrooms to avoid him.

I didn’t even know why anymore. Yeah, I was embarrassed at how I had treated him, but couldn’t I just apologise? Apparently not. Besides, I still stood by what I said. I was used to being on my own. I _liked_ being on my own. It was peaceful. I was on my own wavelength, with no exterior influence or static.

I ate dinner with Dad and Pepper and Morgan. Told them what it was easiest for them to hear: that my grades were good, that I was smarter than my teachers, that I hadn’t been in trouble. That it was nice to have Peter back. The awkward times came when they invited Peter to dinner. I had to make excuses then—that I had too much homework, which automatically got a disapproving look from Dad because I should be able to finish all my homework in five minutes, shouldn’t I? Or that I was going to a friend’s, which I only used once, because he’d seemed suspicious enough when I mentioned a name he’d never heard before—a fake name, obviously—that I thought he might do some digging.

I carried on working on my suit. I’d managed to disconnect it from FRIDAY and hook it up to my own baby AI that I called TUESDAY. The Utterly Essential Sell-out Digital Assistant Youth. She was nice. Not as good as Jarvis or FRIDAY, but growing. I’d managed to leech some of the subsystems straight out of FRIDAY, too, so a lot of it was the same. I even used her to sneak History quiz answers off the internet.

Almost three weeks after the event, I was just getting ready for bed, in my shorts and t-shirt which substituted for pyjamas, with FRIDAY dimming the lights in my bedroom, when I heard Peter’s aunt May’s frantic voice.

There was softer, calmer murmur—Pepper—then heavy footsteps and my dad’s voice. Something was going on. Something to do with Peter?

I rushed out of my room, not even bothering with a dressing gown, and past Morgan’s room to the kitchen. The three adults were standing next to the island, Pepper with her arm around May, and Tony with a holoprojection in front of him, typing something in the air.

“What is it?” I demanded, and Pepper and May’s eyes slid to me.

“Peter,” Pepper said after a second. “Something happened that… upset him, and May’s worried that he might do something stupid.”  
“Well, what happened?” I joined them on the other side of the island and studied Tony’s 3D map. A small, blinking red dot stood on the edge of a roof in Queens. Peter. When neither of the women answered my question, I turned to look at them.

Pepper glanced at May before locking eyes with me. There was some sort of warning in them. “May would rather not say. It’s of a personal nature. We just have to figure out how to get him back here.”  
May took a lurching step forward, her eyes pink. “Can’t you just go out in a suit, Stark? Bring him back here?”

Tony turned then, and I realised how taut he was. Anxious. It reminded me of all the times when Peter had been shot or stabbed, and despite his healing factor, Tony had been tight as a bowstring until he was fine.

“I wish,” he said, his eyes fixed on May. “But I can’t. With my arm, it just… I don’t know. I’ll try anyway. I’m sure there’s—”

“No,” I cut in, tone final. “I’ll go.”

They all turned to look at me, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you’ll go?”

After all, when I had been sitting on my own rooftop, he had come to me. He had sat with me, even though I had been a total dickhead. And I had been a total dickhead for the last three weeks as well. There was nothing like a life-or-death circumstance to make you guilty. Truth was, that I needed to apologise to him anyway. And if no one else could help him...

“I mean, I’ll use my suit and go and get him.”

“What, the suit from the battle? But it’s still damaged. You can’t go out in that. It’d never—”

“No,” I said again. “My own suit.” _This better be worth it, Peter,_ I said, and tapped my earrings. Like magic, the moss-green plating spread over my body and circles and diagrams appeared in front of me. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my fingers, feeling the power of my blasters. “Tuesday? Get that map. We’re going for a ride.”

They all stared at me—Tony, for once, speechless—and I heard only a strangled _No_ from Pepper as I jumped out of the window. For a second, I fell. My thrusters engaged and I shot off, Tuesday taking me exactly where I needed to go. _I’m coming, Peter. Don’t do anything stupid._


	8. Westcott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I've been away for so long; I had a friend staying and everything was a bit hectic but I have a pretty much free calendar for the next few weeks so I hope to post about once a day. Hopefully I will also I get another chapter up tonight. Enjoy!

I heard it before I saw it. Shouts, swearing, near where the GPS led me. A dark figure on top of a building jumped off—I caught my breath before realising he had released webs—and the shouts grew. I tightened my core and aimed down into the alleyway, coming to a hovering stop above the ground. There were five of them. They each carried knives. Peter had webbed two to the walls already, and a third was out cold on the floor. He took on a fourth, the crack of his fist hitting muscle echoing through the alley. The fifth was being him.

Something was in his hand.

A crowbar.

He lifted it, reaching the peak of the arc just as the other assailant shot backwards, webbing sticking him to the wall.

“Peter!” I shouted, but he was already spinning. The crowbar came down, and Peter’s leg shot out. The attacker fell, letting out a yelp. Flying through the air, the crowbar span. At the last second, Peter caught it.

There was a moment of silence. The attacker was panting on the floor. Peter was bent over backwards, his arm out to catch the crowbar, his head turned towards me. I stared straight back at him. Maybe he was fine. Maybe there was no need for me to have come. Maybe I had just been a distraction. I certainly hadn’t been a help.

He straightened. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, and I changed my mind straight away. His voice was cracked and raw. There was _definitely_ something wrong.

Webbing shot from his wrist and wrapped around the attacker. Peter pulled him upright and stuck him to a wall, his hands bound in front of him. He started doing the same to the others, and I copied, dragging them over so he could web them up.

“Did May send you?”

“No,” I replied straight away. “Well, she did come. She’s really worried about you, Peter. But I came of my own accord. No one told me to.”

He was silent, and we studied the pile of attackers together. Well, Peter studied them. I studied him out of the corner of my eye. There wasn’t much to see, seeing as he had his suit on, but his shoulders were tight and he was just a little too… on-edge. A police siren appeared in the distance and he practically jumped, despite the fact that it was _him_ who had called them. Someone in the building above us sneezed, and he had his wrist out and ready to shoot before I had even registered it.

“What’s wrong?” I wanted to use his name. But two of the criminals were still conscious. They could hear us.

“One of them got away,” he said. “I’m gonna go get him.” He turned as he was speaking, and by the time I had realised what he was going to do, he had already shot a web up to the top of the building.

“No!” I pushed off and flew after him. It was difficult; he had a swooping, curving motion that I wasn’t used to. “Peter! I need to talk to you!” He slammed into a wall, sticking to it with his hands and feet. I floated next to him, the soft roar of my blasters blocking out the car horns and shouting from other streets. “Come down to the ground,” I said, softer this time. “Please, Peter. I need to talk to you.”

He was still tense, his muscles tight enough that he could push off at any second. I held my breath, ready to follow wherever he went, but after a long moment, he dropped to the ground silently. I landed next to him and my helmet peeled back. Cold air bit into my cheeks and I could feel my lips cracking.

Peter was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling sharp bursts. I took a step forward and he flinched.

My jaw tightened and I forced myself to take a breath. What the hell was going on?

“Peter,” I said, “I want you to come back to the tower with me. May is worried about you. We can—”

He turned away. His hand was moving—he was fidgeting, I realised. But it looked like his fingers were digging into his palm hard enough to hurt. “He’s free. He got out, Liv. I thought I had—I thought I had five more years, but—” He cut himself off with a strangled gasp.

“Who’s free? What happened, Peter?” I forced the fear out of my voice, despite its hold around my heart. Jesus, what had happened to Peter? I had never seen him like this before, not even in the hospital. He was panicking. Was he having a panic attack?

“Steven Westcott,” he said after a second. His voice was like ice now. Like all the terror and pain that had been in it a moment ago had been leeched away. It was dull, cold. The name didn’t ring any bells.

“Tuesday, get me info on Steven Westcott,” I said under my breath. Then, louder, “Peter, can you come with me? Come back to the tower—or we can go somewhere else if you prefer—and we can talk there.”

He muttered something under his breath before crouching, his head pressing into his hands. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. He was real messed up, clearly. It didn’t even look like he was hearing me.

“Tuesday?”

“Yes, boss. Steven ‘Skip’ Westcott was a convicted sexual offender jailed in 2010 with a thirteen year sentence for the abuse and rape of six young boys, whom he was employed to babysit. He was released yesterday after fulfilling his sentence. He is forty-three years old.”

A convicted sexual offender. Thirteen year sentence from 2010. Abuse and rape of six young boys. Released yesterday. Had something to do with Peter.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly _what_ he had to do with Peter, though.

I glanced around. Three blocks away, an old man fumbled with his keys before letting himself in, but other than that the street was empty.

I crouched beside Peter, careful not to touch him like before. “We need to get you home, Peter. Will you come with me?”

He stumbled backwards at my voice as if he had forgotten I was there. If only I could take his mask off and see his face, but I had the sense that Spider-man was the only thing keeping Peter sane right now. “I’m not going to hurt you, Peter. It’s Olivia. I want to take you to Stark Tower, where your Aunt May and Pepper and Tony Stark are waiting for you. They’re worried about you.”

He scrambled to his feet and turned his back on me. He stumbled down the alley, half pressed against the wall as if he didn’t have the strength to walk himself.

I rushed after him, my suit hindering my movements despite its flowing sentience. “I need you to come with me, Peter. We need to— _Peter!”_

Out of nowhere, there was a flash of silver and Peter cried out. There was a crash as he fell to the floor and a blast. The shadow standing over Peter flew backwards and I realised that it was _me_ who had blasted him. He hit the wall and crumpled, at least unconscious. “Tuesday, tell Dad that there’s a criminal here that needs to be picked up and tell him to get the medical suite ready _now_.”

The suit melted away from my body and hovered in the air. My knees scraped against the floor and I realised that I was still in my t-shirt-and-shorts pyjamas. Not even shoes or socks on. Something dug into my foot but I ignored it. Fear bubbled in my throat. Peter seemed so small, twisted on the floor. I pulled him over, forcing him onto his back, and hissed. There was a gash right across his front, from the bottom of his throat to his left hip bone. The suit was peeling back at the edge, leaving a dwindling expanse of pale white skin that was quickly being covered in blood. “Shit. Shit. _Shit._ Peter, honey, can you hear me? Peter?”

I pulled the mask off, not even caring that someone might see. He was bleeding. A lot. I was about to be kneeling in a warm river of blood. I didn’t even know there was this much blood inside a person, let alone someone slight like Peter.

I leaned over his mouth, feeling the slight brush of warm air against my cheek. Breathing. Okay. Good. But not enough. And he was getting paler by the second.

“Tuesday, what do I do?” The panic was clear in my voice.

“Mr Parker needs to be taken to the nearest medical facility available. In this case, the medical facilities in Stark Tower, which are being readied for his use now.”

Okay. Okay. Okay. But how? I couldn’t just fly him there—he would just bleed out. And he was unconscious so it wasn’t like he could swing there.

“Tuesday, reform my suit around Peter. We need flight and navigation, but forget about everything else. ASAP, Tuesday!”

Behind me, the nano-tech suit melted, and within seconds Peter was cocooned in it. “Take him to the Tower, Tuesday, as quickly as possible. I’ll follow.”

“Hold on tight, Miss Stark.”

Before I could ask what she meant, a metal arm wrapped around my waist and we shot into the sky.

It was fucking freezing.

I was wearing only a t-shirt and skimpy shorts that I wouldn’t have worn outside in the middle of summer if I had a choice. And here we were, shooting through the air, five hundred feet up, at midnight, probably in below freezing temperatures. Maybe that was good, because the cold made my muscles tighten so that my legs were wrapped around the suit’s waist and my arms were around its neck. I hung on, my eyes squeezed shut, and I was pretty sure I was screaming profanities most of the way. My feet went numb, and I was starting to get drowsy.

_Stay awake, motherfucker. You’re hanging from a bloody metal suit five hundred, with one of your best friends bleeding to death inside said suit. You can’t afford to fall asleep now._

After a minute, I opened one eye. It was dark above me, but when I twisted my head a little to the side I saw the lights of the city spread in every direction. “Hang on in there, Peter. Tuesday, how are we doing?”

Tuesday never got a chance to answer because right at that second there was a crash behind me and we flew through a broken window and landed in a bright white room. Warm hands pulled my limbs away from the suit and I stumbled before being caught by warm arms. My vision was black and white spots and my ears were ringing from the roar of the suit.

The suit melted away and Peter was stretched out onto a gurney before being wheeled away. The blood was crusting dry on his suit. “Wait!” I called out, my voice hoarse from cold. “Let me go with him!”

But he disappeared around the corner. I slumped onto the ground and my vision cleared enough to see May follow the stretcher as it disappeared.

Someone wrapped a blanket around me and I glanced up to see Pepper’s tense expression. “Come on,” she said, tugging thick socks over my feet. “We’re getting you checked over and then into bed.”

Happy helped me up and as soon as he let go I stumbled; my legs were still dead from the cold and the effort of clinging onto the suit. Tony caught my arm and wrapped it around his shoulder. “ _Dad,”_ I said, and he looked at me, his eyes wild with the same fear and guilt I was sure was in mine. “Peter needs you. _Go_.”

He swallowed audibly before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered before disappearing after May and the stretcher. Happy tried to take his place at my side but I glared at him and stepped forward by myself. My knees were shaky but I didn’t fall. Pepper hovered at my side, her arm around but not touching my shoulders. “What happened out there?” she asked once I’d taken a few steps forward.

“Is Peter going to be alright?” I asked.

She hesitated, but FRIDAY’s voice cut in. “Mr Parker has sustained heavy blood loss as well as a ruptured lung and broken rib. He also appears to be in shock. However, he is going into surgery now and will definitely survive, Miss. You got him here just in time.” Her voice was more gentle than usual.

I sagged. Thank god. Thank the fucking gods. “Tell me if anything changes, Fri.”

“Will do.”

I headed towards the elevator and managed to press the button before Pepper’s Mom voice reappeared. “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought I might go and wash Peter’s blood off me, but given your reaction, I’m assuming you have something else in mind. Do you really think it’s a good look?”

She glared at me but there was no heart behind it. Instead, she’s softer and more worried than I’ve seen her since last time we were at the hospital. “You’re getting checked out, Miss Sassy.”

I sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. It was Peter who got hurt, not me.”

“And you’re the one who had to carry him back here without a suit. You’re getting checked whether you want to or not.”

I looked to Happy for backup, but he just shrugged. “Your mom’s right, you know.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and he had the decency to look ashamed, but I let Pepper usher me into another, smaller, white room. Then the word _mom_ rang in me like a bell. I forced it down. I was pretty sure Pepper hadn’t heard it. She hadn’t reacted, anyway, and I wasn’t about to make this weird.

A middle aged doctor, around forty, was standing there with a clipboard and a white coat on. He smiled. “You must be Olivia. I’m Doctor Wells.”  
I smiled back automatically. He treated me like doctors in films treat their patients. None of the stuttering stammered greetings that there usually are. Dr Wells gestured for me to sit on the edge of the bed and I did.

He pulled out a flashlight and shone it in each of my eyes before taking down a few notes on the clipboard.

“Five hundred feet up, you say?” he asked, and Pepper nodded, one of her hands wrapped around my shoulder.

“Is she gonna be okay? Her lips were blue a second ago, and she felt freezing.”

The doctor lifted one of my hands and examined the fingertips before putting a thermometer into my mouth, old school. It beeped after a second and he pulled it out, straightening as he did so.

“Yeah, Olivia will be just dandy. She’s experienced frostnip, but as she was exposed to those temperatures for such a short amount of time, she’ll be fine. Get some more blankets around her and get her a warm—but not hot—drink, and let her warm up slowly. I’d recommend taking the day off school tomorrow to get her back on her feet, but there’ll be no long-term effects. I wouldn’t recommend making this part of your daily schedule, though.” He finished with a warm smile at me before stepping away. I slid off the bed and to my feet, ready to be done with this shit.

“Oh, and one more thing: I know you’ll want to go and wash that blood off, but it’d be best to wait at least 30 minutes before having a shower. Your body would heat up too quickly and it could cause some problems.”

I sighed roughly but nodded before exiting the room and making a beeline for the elevator. “Thanks, Doctor Wells.”

Pepper appeared behind me and we made our way up to the apartment in silence with her only edging glances at me during the ride. Great. So I would have to stay crusted in blood for at least another half hour, and during that time I could just tell that I would have to explain everything that had happened.

Just another Thursday night.


	9. Cookies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of fluff, a bit of drama

Peter’s eyelid was twitching. Two hours ago, the doctors said six hours til he woke up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was up within half an hour, but then I wasn’t a medical professional, so who could tell?

I had spent the first thirty minutes of those two hours with three blankets wrapped around me and a warm mug of milk in my hand, describing everything that had happened since I put the suit on. Her expression darkened when I told her about Steven Westcott, convicted sexual offender jailed in 2010 with a thirteen year sentence for the abuse and rape of six young boys, whom he was employed to babysit, but we didn’t speculate. Only one question ran through my mind: Was he Peter’s babysitter? And I quickly silenced that voice.

It was for him to tell us. If and when he was ready.

Then I had showered. The water ran with a red tinge for at least seven minutes, despite the majority of the blood having soaked into my clothes. There had even been blood in my _hair_ , however that had happened.

Then I had dressed, come downstairs to find May and Tony sat on either side of a sleeping Peter, just out of surgery, and given them a shorter version of events. May had nodded, and her eyes had glistened at Westcott’s name, but she hadn’t said anything either.

I was starting to think that someone would tell me to go to bed soon. Tony was in a fevered nightmare, slumped on the side of the bed, and May was still as a statue, straight-backed in a chair just in front of mine. I wrapped my arm tighter around my knees, pulled up on the armchair, and rested my chin on my palm. My eyes were starting to get itchy but I didn’t want to sleep. I had said shitty things to Peter the last time we had properly spoken and even if I wasn’t going to apologise for them—I really fucking hated apologising—at least I could be here when he woke up.

“Thank you.”

I started at the voice. It was May. She hadn’t turned fully, but I could see the tilt of her chin towards me.

“Thank you for going to get him. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, and…” She trailed off. If Peter had been part of this Westcott case—if he had been one of the victims—then it would have been at least thirteen years ago. But I could imagine that wounds of that sort never fully healed.

“He’s going to be okay, you know,” I said when she didn’t continue. “He’s strong, I think.”

“He is,” she replied, and then we fell into silence.

There was a faint knock on the door and a doctor—Doctor Wells from earlier—stuck his head in, gesturing to May. She squeezed Peter’s hand and whispered something to him before leaving, her fingertips brushing along my shoulders as she went.

The door clicked shut behind her and the murmur of voices in the hall faded. I sighed. This was my chance. Tony was there, but asleep. May was out of the room. Peter wouldn’t hear me, so I wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of being knowingly soppy.

I leaned forward and held my head in my hands, my eyes trained on the edge of the blue blanket that was hanging off the bed. “Hey, Peter. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what I said a few weeks ago.” Ugh, apologies. So difficult. It tasted weird in my mouth. “Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong and I actually _do_ need friends, but either way you were just doing what you thought was best for me, so thank you. At some point I might even agree to going to some soppy movie with you and your nerd friends. Maybe even out for pizza as well. Ugh. Is that what—?”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

I whipped my head up. “ _Peter?”_

He coughed, and the sound was both weak and painful at the same time—like he didn’t even have the strength to cough properly. But he was awake. “The one and only. Well, probably not, ‘cause I think Peter’s actually a pretty popular name, but—”

“Pete, you’re supposed to be _asleep_ right now.”

“Yeah, yeah. What—where am I?”

I didn’t answer. Did he not remember any of… anything?  
He coughed again and wriggled in bed, getting comfy. I didn’t miss the wince that went through him at the movement, and apparently neither did he. His hands went to his chest and I realised what he was doing. “No, Peter—”

I was too late; he pulled back the sheets and ripped through the hospital gown to see the line of stitches that went from his neck to hip. He stared at them for a second before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Steven Westcott. I remember now.”

I opened my mouth—I didn’t know what I was going to say, but making shit up as we went had always been a Stark talent—but Tony got there before I did.

“Steven Westcott has cameras on him 24/7 and will do for a long time. He won’t be able to so much as park in a mother-and-child bay without being arrested.” Peter sagged, his exhaustion showing. Tony leaned forward, eyes on only Peter with that earnest, open look that no one could doubt. I wondered when he'd woken up. How much of the conversation he'd heard. “You’re safe, kid. And at least on the matter of Steven Westcott, so is everyone else out there.”

Peter’s eyes drifted closed and his breathing levelled. “Thank you, Mr Stark. Don’t let him get…” His words disappeared into sleep.

Tony gestured for me to go with him. I stood, with a last glance at Peter, and moved towards the door. I didn’t want to leave him alone, but May would be right in as soon as she knew he’d been awake. Tony’s hand fell on my shoulder and we studied Peter. Tony’s eyes were shining, and I realised that he’d seen Peter die once before. How often had he imagined it happening a second time?

We turned to go, my hand on the door handle just as Peter whispered, “Liv, stay?”

I didn’t miss the way Tony’s expression softened. He clapped me on the shoulder once and said, “I’ll get someone to send another bed in. And May will be in in a second.”

I nodded and crossed to where he’d been sitting a minute before, leaving May’s chair open. Peter looked so small under the sheets. I reached forward and straightened the hospital gown so at least the rip was less visible before pulling the blankets higher. I took his limp hand in mine and pulled the chair closer to the bed so I could sit without letting go. The door shut after Dad and I rested my head against the side of the chair. “Always, Peter.”

 

####

 

I woke, for the second time in as many months, to the soft murmur of voices in a hospital room. This time, though, I wasn’t the patient. Peter, lying listlessly on his bed while the adults around him talked, was the patient.

I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. It was a mess, like it always was after waking up. I was wearing a thick set of wooden pyjamas that were roasting me to the core, and a pile of blankets and duvets sat on the floor next to _my_ hospital bed. The room was light, despite not having the traditional, Stark-tower, wall-of-windows set-up. I yawned and slid my feet off the bed.

I caught Peter’s eye. He didn’t smile and after a second he looked away. He just looked totally _blank_. That was depressing.

Pepper and Tony were between my bed and his, chatting about Morgan’s nursery. To keep Peter’s mind off things. To fill the silence.

Tony turned just as I slid off the bed, my feet hitting the floor with a light thump. He jerked his head and I nodded, following him out of the room.

The door shut, he pressed me a few metres down the corridor. “Hey, kiddo. Glad to see you’re up. Pepper was starting to get a little worried there given it’s one in the afternoon.”

“To be fair, I only went to sleep at, like, four. Anyway, Dad, cut the crap. What’s happening? How’s Peter?”

Tony sighed, and not in the good I’m-relaxed-and-unworried way, but in the I’m-exhausted-and-stressed way. “Alright, Kid. Guess you’ve got a right to know. He’s… quiet. I still don’t know what happened—what Westcott is to him—I mean, I’m sure with some digging—but he deserves his privacy, and to tell us when he wants, so—but now I’m thinking that we should know what happened even if that’s just to avoid certain topics, but—”

“I get it, Dad. And he’ll tell us if he wants to. What about the cut? And where’s May?”

“The wound’s pretty much healed now—super-spidey-healing, remember?—but… Truth is, it’s the other stuff that worries me.” His eyes darted around and an image suddenly flashed into my mind of Tony standing at the window into a surgery theatre while Rhodey was worked on.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “May went to pick up some things from the apartment. We agreed that it was best that Peter stay here this weekend, so she’s staying too.” He rubbed his eyes, and I saw the dark circle of shadow that said other than his hour-long nap at two in the morning, he hadn’t slept for a while. “She said he needs distraction, so me and Pep have been trying to get him to talk, but he just—he won’t talk to us, Liv.”

I studied him. He was still dressed in his Dad clothes—a dark blue fleece and black jeans—that he had worn to the zoo with Morguna. There was an ice cream stain on his left sleeve.

“It’s alright, Dad. I’ll take the Peter-shift for an hour or two. You should go shower, have a nap, and—doesn’t Morgan need to be picked up from nursery in ten minutes.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, _shit_. Tell Pepper where I’ve gone!” He disappeared around the cornered and I smiled. He was a better dad than I think anyone had expected, especially himself. And at least once, he got to do it right from the beginning.

I pushed open the door again and pasted an almost entirely fake smile onto my face. “Alright, sucker,” I said, pulling the covers off Peter. “I’ve decided that we’re going to catch up on every single Disney movie you missed. And no, you don’t get a choice about it.”

 

####

 

May and Tony and Morgan all reappeared about half an hour into Dumbo and Morgan settled down on Peter’s lap within seconds to watch, shushing anyone who tried to speak. I saw Peter and May exchange a Look, but she gave him a gentle smile and he jus turned back towards the television. That was good, I was pretty sure.

Tony created four stacks of almost burned pancakes and a plethora of toppings on the coffee table—along with a single one for Morgan—before settling down to watch with us. He was asleep by the start of Aladdin.

 

####

 

Peter cried during the Lion King remake. (I took that as a win, despite the fact that he later said it didn’t deserve the Oscar over Mulan.)

 

####

 

I skipped Maleficent 2. I’d read somewhere that the cutting off of her wings was meant to be a metaphor to rape.

 

####

 

When we reached the end of Cruella, the sky was firmly dark. Pepper lifted herself off the third sofa, where her feet were resting in May’s lap, and carried Morgan to bed. I began stacking the dishes with their pancake (lunch) and pasta (dinner) remnants, and Peter helped me carry them to the sink. Tony set about tidying up the living room as I washed and Peter dried.

I had to steel my stomach to make myself say the words, but I did it. “Peter, you don’t have to talk about it or say anything you don’t want to, but I want you to know that what I said before doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You can tell me anything—talk to me about anything—and I’ll never judge you or tell anyone unless you want me to and you know it would never—”

“I know. Thanks, Liv.”

I offered him an awkward smile. He was tense, but returned it. “Wow, I hate being soppy,” I said, mainly to break the awkwardness. “But just so you know, you really can tell me anything.”

He nodded and we finished washing the dishes.

By the time we were done, Tony had pulled my duvet, a spare duvet, four pillows, and the about sixty-bazillion quilts and blankets from my bed into the living room. “Consider yourselves lucky, kids. Make the most of this one chance because we’re not letting you do this _every_ Friday.”

“Dad, you do know that as soon as Peter works his puppy dog eyes on you, you’ll give him whatever he wants, right?”

He pointed at me, his other hand flinging the cushions from the sofas onto the ground. “That was a personal attack and I didn’t like it.”

I snorted, and the corners of even Peter’s mouth quirked upwards. “Sure, Mr Stark. And thank you!”

With a final wave, Tony disappeared into his and Pepper’s bedroom, and I waited for the click of their door before assaulting the kitchen cupboards. I tossed two chocolate bars, a packet of popping corn, a carton of milk, and the tub of chocolate powder at Peter. He managed to catch them—his Peter tingle at work—and balanced the items in a stack before setting them down.

“Anything else you want?” I asked, half-whispering. Pepper and Tony would both be fast asleep within half an hour, but until then there wasn’t much point risking being told off by them. Besides, it was fun, and I could already see the excitement in Peter’s eyes. A kid at heart, after all.

“Well…” He trailed off.

“What is it, Peter? Just say.”

“Chocolate chip cookies?” His puppy dog eyes were adorable.

I grinned and pulled the flour and sugar out of the cupboard. “Good thinking.”

“What? No! I mean, you don’t have to _make_ them. I thought you might have some lying around somewhere. Like, a packet of them. Bought ones,” he stammered, his voice even higher-pitched than usual.

“Well, we don’t. Besides, I like cooking. And the cookie batter is the best bit, so don’t deprive me of the chance to lick the spoons.”

He glanced between the corridor that led to the bedrooms and me before tipping his head to the side. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.” I smacked my lips and snorted the loudness of the noise. There were three packets of chocolate chips and even though the recipe only asked for one, it would be a waste to leave the random number of two packets left, wouldn’t it? Might as well just use all three. “You can do the hot chocolate. Hey, Friday, can you please soundproof Mom and Dad’s room?”

“Soundproofing accomplished, Miss,” came a low voice over the intercom.

Peter gave me a look. “ _Mom_?” he asked, his voice teasing.

I glared at him. “It’s set like that for Morgan. She doesn’t know that they have names other than ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ yet.”

“Sure, Liv,” he said, and turned back to the hot chocolate with a grin on his face.

I mixed the batter in five minutes and got a healthy amount of it on my face before getting trays in the oven. I was just turning towards Peter to show him that I’d got the entire paddle of the spatula in my mouth at once, when the elevator dinged.

We span at once, Peter’s wrist snapping to Spiderman pose, his watch turning into a web-shooter. And then the doors opened.


	10. Family dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @Acrosseverystar for all the lovely comments, it really made my day to know someone cared so much about what I was writing <3  
> Also, if people have requests on things (specific lines, or chapters, or themes, or whatever) then please put them in the comments. I might not be able to do all of them, but I'm pretty flexible on most things within this fic, so I'd love to give it a go.  
> Also, how do people feel about having some chapters from Peter's point of view? If consensus is positive, there will probably be one up tomorrow (of the field trip) but if not, then I just will leave it out as it mostly would be just Irondad or MJ or Ned fluff and school-ish things.  
> Enjoy!! and as always, alert me to issues or typos or whatever in the comments

“ _May?”_ Peter’s voice was full of incredulity that would have matched my own, had my heart been slow enough that I could have attempted talking. Instead, I had to force down the almost irresistible urge to burst out laughing. _“Seriously_?”

“Peter? What are you two doing up?” She walked in, a bag swinging from her left hand.

“We were just making cookies… I thought you were in bed!” Peter exclaimed.

“No, I went home to get… What _is_ that on your face?”

I quirked my lips upwards in a semi-smile. “Cookie dough?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperation evident. “Kids,” she muttered. Then she frowned and turned towards the pile of bedding on the floor in front of the TV. “Are you two having a sleepover? How come you’re not in your room, Pete?”

“We’re watching movies,” I replied. “But you don’t have to worry, because, as Tony said, ‘they’re not letting us do this _every_ Friday.’”

She rolled her eyes again. “Fine. Don’t be up too late. Don’t watch too many movies or your eyes will go square.”

“ _May_.”

She grinned at us before disappearing into the guest room.

As soon as she was gone, I caught Peter’s eye and within seconds we were bent double with laughter. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “I thought she was some sort of—terrorist, or kidnapper or something! I thought she’d broken in!”

Peter caught his breath for long enough to say, “Or worse—Happy or one of the Avengers, in which case I would _never_ live this down. I bet they’d take photos and show _everyone_ , and then I wouldn’t be Spider-man, I’d be, like, Cookie-Dough-Man, or something…”

My laughter tapered off, my lungs already hurting. “Oh, man. You were so ready to shoot her. Priceless. Iconic.”

“Yeah, well, I thought she might be…” He trailed off, his eyes darkening as he studied the floor. I didn’t have to ask, because—just for a split second before I’d seen it was May— _I_ had wondered as well. If it was Steven Westcott. Come to take revenge on Peter for—whatever it was that had happened.

A beeping noise cut through the tension and I leaped towards the oven. The two trays of cookies were both done, or even if they weren’t, I took them out, and Peter was already prepared with the jar of chocolate spread. I made a shallow dip in the middle of each of them with the handle of a spoon and he followed with a dollop of chocolate, getting a healthy amount of it on his fingers in the process.

“Gross,” I said when he licked said fingers.

He caught my eye and—thank god—some of the light was back in there.

“Right. Popcorn now or later?” I asked and in answer he grabbed a bowl and tipped the packet into it.

“Now.”

My cheek muscles hurt from smiling. “Which movies? Are we carrying on with Disney or branching out? There’s this new thing called Justice League which is like a rip-off Avengers, ‘cause Dad wouldn’t sell them the movie rights to the real thing. We could watch that. There’s this alien thing that comes from space and—”

He almost flinched at that.

“Actually, you know what, it’s bad. Not even bad enough to be funny, either. Let’s watch—” My lips automatically formed _Star Wars,_ which I knew he was ultra-nerd over, but that was set in space, too. Damn you, Space. All around us. Literally, as well as figuratively.

“Pirates of the Caribbean,” I said instead and he seemed fine with that.

I carried over the trays of cookies and set them on the coffee table before studying the pile of cushions and blankets. Tony had really made a mess of it. “We’re gonna have to sort this out before we do anything else, though,” I said.

Peter raised an eyebrow before diving forward, belly-flopping onto the pile. “Really?”

I shrugged and flopped down next to him. “Bit lumpy, but it’ll do.”

I turned the TV on and Friday found us Pirates 1. Peter distinctively snored right at the dramatic, silent moment where the villain is killed, so when we reached the end I just turned the TV off. It was good that he was sleeping. And eating, clearly, as half the first tray of cookies was gone, as well as his hot chocolate and most of the bowl of popcorn.

I rolled over and tugged a blanket out from under the pile, draping it over him. “I’m not asleep, you know,” he said after a second.

“Clearly,” I replied, and burrowed into the pile next to him. Peter was lying on half my duvet, but I could just about pull the other half over my legs and there was definitely something soft under my head even if I wasn’t really sure what it was.

We lay there for a while. I wasn’t really sure how long. Friday had dimmed the windows so only the faintest glow of streetlights could be seen. It had to be close to one in the morning, but I had only woken twelve hours ago, so I wasn’t particularly tired. And Peter had been napping intermittently through the various movies we watched, so neither could he. Still, I thought he had fallen asleep by the time his voice, so quiet I had to strain to understand, piped up.

“Do you want to hear about Steven Westcott?” he asked.

I floundered. “Only—only if you want to tell me, Peter. Don’t feel like you have to tell me anything—you don’t owe me anything.”

He was silent for another minute and I had almost concluded that he had taken my offer of silence before he said, “He was my babysitter when I was, like, six or seven. He lived a few blocks away. He had a degree in biochemical engineering, said it made him ‘too qualified for a proper job’, so he just did babysitting and dog walking and things.”

The tap in the kitchen was dripping. It was really annoying and—I thought—probably even worse for Peter with his heightened senses.

“It was six months before I told May and Ben what he was—what he did to me when they weren’t around. Ned sat with me.” For the first time in the story, a bit of warmth entered his voice. Damn, now I _really_ regretted the way I had judged Ned the other day. “Turned out, he’d done it to lots of other little boys, only May and Ben and me were the first ones to speak up. He almost walked free, til someone came up with some pretty shaky video evidence, ‘cause it just so happened that they’d left the camera running one day after a school project, and it caught some… some things.

“You know, straight after it happened, May and Ben got me transferred into different classes so I didn’t have much interaction with adult men. That was… nice of them. But now that actual—the actual one that I have to be afraid of—is out there.”

“Peter, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. He can’t get to you. He can’t get to anyone. Not only are you a badass superhero, but so are, like, five members of your family.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“Me, and Dad, and Pepper, and Rhodey, and… Well, I reckon that even though the other Avengers aren’t like _family_ family, you still get a bit of all of them, so that makes up number five—”

“Mr Stark isn’t—you aren’t all—“

“Dude, you literally called him ‘Dad’ the other day.”

“I did not! When?”

“Alright, fair enough, maybe you didn’t, but my point stands. You’re safe here. And that piece of shit is on _Iron Man’s_ radar. He’s not going to be doing anything even slightly morally ambiguous ever again.”

Peter was silent for a minute. “I guess.”

“Yeah. Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s fine. Anyways…He got sentenced to thirteen years the day after my eighth birthday. He got out two days ago. Only… I thought that I was going to have five more years. You know? I thought I was going to be twenty-one and at MIT by the time he got out. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d still be living in Queens, where I could see him just around the city.”

He drifted off into silence.

I swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“It’s fine,” he said, so soon that it must have been automatic. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not really fine. And… you’ve probably heard this a thousand times before, but…” God, where to start? What was the most important thing to say? “You aren’t defined by this. You’re more than this, you know? It was a shitty thing under any circumstances, and you know you can always talk to me about _anything_ no matter what, whether it’s related to this or not, but you’re still Peter Parker to me: Smart, funny, annoying. Nerd.” I didn’t even know if the last comment was 'Peter Parker: Smart, funny, annoying, nerd’, or ‘You’re Peter Parker, _nerd_ ’, but it softened the soppiness to a manageable level.

“Thanks, Liv.” His voice was soft. “I actually… That was actually really nice to hear.”

“Anytime. Actually, not anytime because if I have to say something that sweet on a regular basis, my teeth will rot. But, you know, every other day as long as it’s at least half an hour before brushing my teeth.”

He snorted and, after a minute, I heard a snore.

Mission accomplished, for tonight, at least.

 

 

####

 

The weekend passed in mostly the same way. We all took part in the unofficial Peter-protection patrol. I watched crappy movies with him on my shifts and made way too many sweet foods. (I mean, seriously, who can eat _two trays of brownies_ in _one afternoon?_ ) Tony took him to the lab and fixed up the suit, as well as working on Super Secret Boy Tech that I wasn’t allowed to see. May and Pepper roped him into playing boardgames, which was their loss in my opinion, because he thrashed them at anything word based with ridiculous names of chemicals and scientific processes. To be fair, though, Pepper dominated at Monopoly, and May was unbeatable at Cluedo and video games, which she took an unexpected liking to.

Even Morgan, who didn’t really know what was happening, took a turn when she insisted Peter stay in her room that night because ‘Spider-man can keep the spiders away, I promise!’

Sunday night she felt bad for forcing the rest of us to live spider-infested lives, and told us we were allowed a turn, but May said he was good to be in his own room, so we let him go.

“You know he can stay in my room, right, Pepper? Or, like, we can do a sleepover thing again in the living room,” I said, watching Morgan point out the New York City landmarks to Peter through the window, because they’d obviously changed so much in the past five years. And because, obviously, a four year old knew what was going on in the city.

“You have school tomorrow, Liv. And so does he. I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for him, but you both need your sleep. Besides, if Mo finds out that you had another sleepover without her, she might actually try and kick you out of the house.”

I narrowed my eyes at Pep, but quickly moved on to May. “You’re sending him to school tomorrow? Don’t you think it might be better if…” I trailed off. If what? If he stayed home forever? If there was one thing I had learnt from my brief stint in horse-riding, if you fell off you had to get back on straight away. If you fell off and stayed off, the fear only grew.

May groaned. “I don’t know…” She buried her face in her hands. “Maybe a half-day is the answer? Maybe we should… I don’t know.”

Each of us stared into our own respective corners. Peter would notice in a second that all the adults (plus me) had all disappeared into another room. This hushed meetings had been happening every few hours, whenever Peter had gone to have a shower, or Morgan had distracted him. Thank god for little kids who were helpful, but didn’t know enough to be blabbermouths.

Back to the point at hand. “So, we need something that gets Peter half-in and half-out of school. We need him to feel safe and supported, but at the same time, not isolated or falling behind. You know, maybe we should just tell Ned and MJ to stick close to him all day.”

Tony snapped, suddenly standing straighter. “I’ve got it,” he said.

We all waited for him to continue, but instead he pulled out his phone and started typing into it.

“Care to elaborate?” I asked, and he didn’t so much as blink.

Pepper’s phone pinged, and she pulled it out. “ _All Stark Industries employees,”_ she murmured, _“the Junior year group of Midtown High Science and Technology will be touring the facilities tomorrow. Play nice. Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.”_

I looked at him. “A field trip? Really?”

He grinned. “Why not? I’ll arrange them a nice little tour, keep an eye on the group, make sure the kid’s doing okay. Perfect solution. You’re welcome.”

“Tony, are you planning on mentioning this to the school at any time?” Pepper asked, exasperation clear in her voice.

Tony smirked. “That’s an excellent point. And, coincidentally, a task that I think would be perfectly suited to the head of Stark Industries, rather than some random guy who happens to live in the tower.”

“Oh, yeah, because it’s not like you’re the former head of it all. Or, you know, the one whose name is on the tower. Or the one who just sent out the email to everyone else, or—”

Tony grabbed Pepper’s wrists and pulled her, still complaining, towards the office.

Which left me and May.

Her eyes were shining. Awkward. Even if we had seen each other almost every week for five years. “He really does love Peter, doesn’t he,” she said.

I nodded. “Yeah. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he does.” _Time for some more tooth-rotting sweetness._ “He loves him like a son, and I think now that he’s got Peter back, he doesn’t plan on ever letting him get hurt again. Which is fair enough, you know, ‘cause Peter’s so adorable when he’s hurt that he can just get anyone to give him anything he wants.”

May let a ghost smile rest on her face, before turning to the kitchen again and calling out to Peter that they were on dinner duty that night.

So. Field trip for Peter and the rest of his year. And for me, another day at school.


	11. Father and Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: attack on a school. Doesn't go into much detail at all in this chapter
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter had slept badly. In fact, he hadn’t really slept. At the time, he’d thought Olivia and Morgan’s clinginess had been unnecessary and kinda annoying. It hadn’t exactly been hard to figure out that they were all doing some sort of two-hours-looking-after-the-crazy-kid thing. But now, at six in the morning, having tried to sleep in a room by himself, his mind had just gone back to _Steven Westcott. Steven Westcott_ again and again. He’d even closed the window fully, and locked it, which was a bitch because now the room was way too hot.

He really wished Liv were here with her midnight cookie-baking sessions, or Morgan, with the sixty-bazillion spiders he had to keep out of her bedroom.

 _They don’t want to be here, Peter. There’s a reason May brought you home. It’s because you were annoying them_.

_No, I wasn’t._

Voices in his head. No, he wasn’t crazy at all. And that was the frigging worst of it. Because for _two years_ after Westcott had been put in prison, Peter had had voices in his head. He’d had nightmares. He’d woken up thinking someone was pressing against him in the bed. But he’d had therapy, and they’d gone away, and he’d known that Westcott would get out some day, but he’d thought he’d had _time_.

But then he’d been Snapped, and that time had practically evaporated. And now Westcott was free, and Peter was still a sixteen year old kid, living in Queens, only a few blocks away from the apartment they’d been in at the time, and he was pretty sure that Westcott could find him with just a name.

_It’s fine. Shut up. Mr Stark has drones on him. He can’t get close to me without alarms going off._

That didn’t really help him sleep.

Peter ate breakfast in silence and dressed in silence, and May didn’t comment on the bags under his eyes. She just gave him a worried look, and offered to drive him straight to the compound.

Peter accepted, but only because it genuinely _was_ on the way to work for her.

Liv had already gone by the time he arrived, so he spent the time staring at the floor and reading the articles about September Grant creations that sat in books on the coffee table. After ten minutes the receptionist, who recognised him, offered him a hot chocolate, which he declined. He was standing in the lobby for twenty minutes before the school bus arrived and the rest of the students poured into the lobby.

Ned and MJ made an automatic beeline for him.

“Are you okay, man?” Ned whispered in a rushed hiss. “You weren’t in school Friday and you’ve barely been answering my texts. Are you okay?”

Peter forced himself to smile. “I got stabbed. It was pretty cool, actually, but I had to stay in bed over the weekend.”

Part of the truth, at least.

“No way,” said Ned. “That is actually pretty cool. I mean, are you okay, though? Because that’s totally dangerous, and—”

“Parker! You three! Over here please!”

Ned and MJ shared a look—there was a running joke that Mr Harrington, after three years of teaching them, still didn’t know their names—and the three made their way over to the rest of the group.

The receptionist appeared after a second with a stack of entry passes and started handing them around. “These are your passes. Don’t lose them, please. They have level 4 entry clearance, with gives you access to the building, many civilian facilities, and the lower level intern labs. If you are found wandering the building without one of these passes, you will be thrown out.” The receptionist smiled at Peter and moved past him without handing him a pass.

“Dude,” Ned whispered, turning the card over in his hands. “She didn’t give you one. How are you…? Oh, _man,”_ he groaned at the sight of Peter’s level 1 pass.

“Entry to everything,” Peter said with a grin. Ned’s enthusiasm would never fail to cheer him up.

“Now, I will be your tour guide today, and the first item on the list is the state-of-the-art security system in place around Stark Tower.” She walked over to her desk and twisted the computer screen towards the group. “There is, of course, the usual card system and the fingerprint scanning required for higher level entries. Also, different artificial intelligences run different parts of the tower and keep track of suspicious activity.

“Furthermore, last night the great Mr Stark implemented a new system. From today onwards, every single person entering the building is scanned via CCTV, and by means of facial recognition, anyone with a criminal record is noted down. Though this may of course not be enough to ward off the type of threat Mr Stark is used to—” There were laughs around the group, but Peter flinched. He’d been there for some of them. He knew that—against the aliens, against a well-oiled army—a CCTV scanner would do nothing— “Crime on a level that you and I are more used to won’t take place here.”

The rest of the class took turns peering at the screen, and the tour guide led them away.

Then something occurred to Peter. Mr Stark had implemented the system last night. Peter had been well aware that the impromptu field trip had been down to Mr Stark and May wanting to keep an eye on him, but was the security system down to Mr Stark as well? Was he trying to reassure Peter that as long as he was at the tower, he was even safer than everywhere else?

Guilt filled Peter. Mr Stark was getting old. He had kids. He was retired. He had just saved the world—again. He had better things to do than look after some kid with mental health issues.

Despite the guilt, Peter couldn’t push away the feeling of relief. Westcott really _couldn’t_ find him here. Mr Stark might start to regret the new system, once Peter started spending every spare moment in the tower.

The rest of the morning passed in a bit of a blur. They visited the business rooms, had a workshop on hologramming, wandered through the Avengers museum. MJ and Ned threw concerned glances at him all morning. He tried to join in—they looked so worried, and that just made him feel more guilty—but his mind was far away.

Now, they were sitting at lunch, Peter munching on his sandwiches. Ham, cheese, extra pickles, just the way he liked it. But it was hard to focus on. MJ and Ned were discussing something to do with afancy black hole discovery made during the Blip (Despite Michelle’s Natasha-level observance skills, she hadn’t figured out that particular problem of Peter’s.), and he was trying Very Hard not to listen.

“Mr—Mr Stark, we weren’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I’m here to see the kid,” Mr Stark said.

Peter’s gaze snapped up at the voice, and there he was in his resplendent glory of the Workshop Outfit, which meant a tank top, despite his slight Dad Bod. Fair enough. The metal arm was getting its fair share of stares, though. The tour guide glanced between Peter and her boss for a minute, before finally sitting back down at the table she shared with the chaperones.

“Um, Mr—Mr Stark, what are you doing here?” Peter asked, dropping his sandwich back into the wrapper.

Mr Stark slid onto the bench, scooting Ned sideways. Wow. _Thanks for that heart attack you’re about to give my best friend, Mr Stark._ “Well, you know, I do actually live here. Thought I’d drop by, say hello to my second best intern and his, er, gang.”  
MJ was looking distinctly confused. Probably wondering whether she should be judging Mr Stark for his ridiculous wealth, or thanking him for saving the universe.

Peter, meanwhile, frowned. “Second best?”

Mr Stark reached over and took a slice of ham out of Peter’s sandwich. “Well, definitely top-ten. Actually, you’re right; that’s a bit much. Maybe top-twenty, actually.” His eyes sparkled at Peter’s annoyance. “This must be Ted and Trishelle, right? Nice to meet you.”

“ _Ned_ and _Michelle_ ,” Peter replied. Mr Stark knew that. He’d even met them before, not that he’d admit to remembering _that_ event. “And yes, this is them.”

MJ, in what Peter would call one of her ballsier moves, stuck a hand out towards Mr Stark. “Actually, most people call me MJ,” she said. “I like your nails.”

His nails? Peter hadn’t noticed anything. He twisted to look and— “Oh, _wow_ , Mr Stark. Morgan got to you?”

He studied his two, bright pink, badly painted fingernails. “She did indeed. I’m now a fashion icon."

“I think you always were, Mr Stark.”

“True. Anywho, I’d like to borrow you for a quick chat before you move onto the more exciting hour of your tour, if you don’t mind.”

Peter swallowed. “Sure, Mr Stark.” He stood as his mentor did, and the flash of heads turning away from them reminded him that he was standing next to the most famous man in the world. Some of them didn’t even bother to hide their staring.

They turned the corner out in the corridor and ducked into an empty lab. Peter hung back next to the door, while Tony slid up onto the metal workbench. “How you doing, Kid?”

“I’m fine. It’s all fine, thanks, yeah. Good sandwich. You know—”

“Really, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you only had about one bite of that sandwich, and you’d been sitting there for at least twenty minutes.”

Peter floundered. Mr Stark had been watching him. “Well, I wanted to save it, you know.”

“Kid, you gotta eat. With your metabolism, you gotta keep your strength up. Gotta keep yourself going.”

Peter opened his mouth to interrupt, but Mr Stark carried on going. “And that’s not all. I saw you around the Tower today, and you’ve been silent as a—you’ve been silent.” _Silent as the grave_. Yeah, well. He _had_ been _dead_.

“I’ve just been thinking, Mr Stark, it’s nothing,” Peter protested. His problems were stupid, and what was the point getting Mr Stark involved? There was none. No one could do anything about his issues, except himself.

“Pete, you gotta talk to me, Kid.” Mr Stark slid off the workbench and approached. Peter tense automatically. He didn’t mean to. He trusted Mr Stark absolutely, just as he trusted May and Ned and MJ and Liv and Morgan, but he still—he still didn’t like people getting close to him when he was vulnerable.

Mr Stark took a step back. So he had noticed, then. “Or, even if you don’t wanna talk to me, you gotta talk to _someone_. These things don’t just go away. Trust me. You gotta let us help you.”

Peter stared at the floor. He knew that. He knew all of that. It was just— “I thought I’d got rid of these problems, you know?” he said, too loud. It was what his old therapist used to call an _outburst_. He ran a hand through his hair and trudged further into the room to avoid eye contact with Mr Stark. “I thought they were gone. But then—now that—now he’s out, it’s like all the work I put in, all that—it was all for nothing, you know? I mean, that was eight years ago, even if you don’t count the extra five. I should be _over_ it by now.”

There was silence for a moment, and Peter thought that maybe, finally, Tony would agree that he _was_ too much work. Then, “Kid, there’s no time stamp on trauma.”

Peter swallowed. _Trauma_. He was a _traumatised kid_ , like he fit onto a form or a statistic.

“Sometimes I still get nightmares about the wormhole in New York. I panic when Pepper doesn’t answer her phone. I get these visions of Morgan and Liv growing up to be just like me, self-destructive and reckless and messed up. On the bad days I still can’t have showers because it reminds me of the cave in Afghanistan, and that was fifteen years ago. These wounds never fully go away, Peter, and you don’t have to be ashamed just because you’re still healing.”

Peter heard Tony’s footsteps get closer, could feel him hovering a metre or so behind. He still didn’t turn around, didn’t want to Tony to see his eyes.

“Life is tough. Shitty things happen, whether you’re a superhero or not. And just because they were a while ago doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. Being okay is a constant effort, and some days it will be easier than others. But you have to remember that pain is temporary, and you have very many loving people who want to help you through this and anything else that happens in your life.” Tony’s voice was measured, controlled. Tightly bound, like he was afraid it was going to run away. “Now, you just gotta make me one promise, kid. Promise that you will let us and your friends help you.”

Peter nodded jerkily, turned slightly. The words were still worming their way into the cage around him. _There’s no time stamp on trauma._ Tony had nightmares. Tony had trauma. And if anyone was Not A Statistic, it was Tony Stark. Which meant that maybe Peter wasn’t either.

“Now, come here.” Tony held out his arms, and Peter took one tiny step forward into them. Warmth. And _nice_ warmth. Not body-on-top-of-the-covers, crying-hot-tears warmth. This was familial warmth. Peter’s head was tucked against Tony’s neck, and when there was a light pressure against his skin, Peter realised Tony had given him a kiss on the cheek.

It was really, really _nice_.

“And for the love of god, finish your sandwich,” Tony said as he released him. “You need to put some weight on.”

Peter chuckled roughly and they made their way out of the room, Tony’s arm still a light pressure over Peter’s shoulders. Peter was actually kind of looking forward to the sandwich now. And he was pretty sure that Ned had mentioned something about seeing the Lion King remake, which Peter could review for him, having seen enough Disney movies over the past weekend to give an incredibly in-depth ranked list.

He pushed open the door to the Tower’s cafeteria, and stopped short. Everyone—every student from Midtown, every intern, every scientist, every secretary—was bunched around the TV screen that took up ten foot of wall space.

“This is, of course, the school which business mogul and superhero Tony Stark’s daughter attends, but given the widespread nature of the attack, this isn’t believed to be a cause,” the news anchor was saying in a calm, TV voice, as a photo of Midtown High spread across the screen. Peter felt Tony’s entire body tense. “The FBI and NYPD are on sight at each of the four locations, attempting to negotiate with the hostage takers. However, their objective is unknown. Stay tuned for more information.”

Tony’s arm dropped from Peter’s shoulder and he strode forward. The group in front of the TV “Friday, tell me what the _hell_ is happening.”

“There’s been an attack, Boss. Bombs have beens set off at four locations in New York, including Midtown High Science and Technology. Sir, I think it might be the Mandarin.”


	12. A plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: an attack on a school

School when Peter was away was much the same—I discovered—as school when Peter _wasn’t_ away. Given that he was the year above—and also given that I’d been avoiding him for weeks—I didn’t usually see much of him. The only difference was that _I_ knew that he was back at the tower, probably eating ice cream or having a water balloon fight or being given some more extremely expensive technology, while I was sat here, wallowing in boredom.

Not fair. Lucky pig.

Well. Except for all the reasons that he _wasn’t_ a lucky pig. Such as the fact that he had died. And had missed five years of his life. And his parents and uncle were all dead. And… Yeah. The big one. The reason that he was even at the tower today at all. It made me feel sick just thinking about it. The only thing that made me feel better was that MJ, Ned, Tony, and probably also May and Pepper were keeping an eye on him today. He was pretty protected, from anything physical _or_ mental.

I tried not to think about it, and that just added to the sense of monotony.

A consolation to my boredom was that at least a quarter of his year group were wandering around, looking dazed and disappointed. Theirs were the parents that hadn’t got the permission slips in on time. Given that they’d had about twelve hours notice, I didn’t really blame the parents.

It was actually pretty entertaining. I leaned back against the wall at lunch, my legs crossed on the bench in front of me, chewing on my cucumber sticks, and watching the juniors stare into the distance like they were drugged. Or in a Whitney Houston music video. Same thing, wasn’t it?

“Uh, hello?”

I blinked and almost dropped my cucumber stick. “Um, hi,” I replied. On the other side of my table was a kid from the year above. I recognised him, vaguely, but I wasn’t sure where from. He was fit, in a bland sort of way, with dark hair and an almost movie star jawline. “Can I help you?”

He shifted. “Yeah, I just noticed that you were staring at me and my friends as if we were zombies. Well, most of them are acting like zombies today, but anyways… are you okay?”

I frowned at him. He was definitely familiar. And it was nice. I wondered if we were friends in third grade or something—he definitely seemed more comfortable talking to the Stark Girl than most were. Or maybe he just didn’t know. “Yeah, I’m good. How come you aren’t sobbing on the floor like the rest of your year group?”

He slid onto the bench opposite me as if that was some sort of invitation. I actually didn’t mind it. “Well, actually, my dad works for your dad, so I’ve been to the Tower a few times before. It’s not really as interesting to me—I mean, it’s still fascinating! Really! I mean, the architecture is just… wow, and I’m sure you know, but the way Tony Stark used his nanotech to build that shifting pillar after the helicopter crashed into it five years ago, was just—I’m sorry. That must be really weird to you. That’s your _house_.”

I smiled and uncrossed my legs, sitting normally for once. “Nah, it’s fine. You get used to it. And yeah, the nanotech _is_ pretty cool. You into architecture, then?”

“Absolutely. Both my parents are doctors, but—”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s it! Your dad is Doctor Wells, isn’t he?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s him. You know him?”

I hesitated. “Well, I mean, I met him on, like Thursday. Briefly. Took advantage of his medical expertise for a minute there. Good to know the NDAs are fully functioning.”

He smiled. “Yeah, well, there’s ‘nothing he loves more than being put to work’, as he says, and he loves a good rule.” He chuckled kind of awkwardly. “I’m Brandon, by the way, but most people call me Brad.”

“Olivia,” I replied dryly. He just nodded. “So, Brandon-but-most-people-call-me-Brad, what makes you want to be an architect?”

For a second his eyes glazed over and he stared through the fire door on my left into the courtyard, as if he was imagining a dream life stuck in a small green square next to a school cafeteria with nothing to do but design buildings all day, but then he turned back to me. “I just wanna make something, you know? I wanna create something that will leave a mark on the world. If I build the next Eiffel Tower, or the Great Wall of China, then I will have _done something_ with my life, y’know? I don’t know, it’s kinda stupid.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I mean, I get it.” I crunched on a carrot stick, this time. They really weren’t my favourites. I mean, who decided to _not cook carrot?_ It was just _dry_.

“Hey, so, I’m having a party this weekend,” Brad said, his words distinctly fast. “And you’d be really welcome to come—”A crack ripped through the air, and then through my bones as I was pressed against the wall behind me. Smoke and screams filled the air.

“Brad? _Brad?”_

He was slumped over the table, his face in my bowl of salad. I tilted his head to the side, far enough to see a sheen of red from a tiny cut on his forehead. Damn it. He bled on my salad. Side note: _why was everyone always bleeding on my stuff?_

“Tuesday? Get me a suit.”

There was no response.

“Oh, _shit_.” Of course there wasn’t a response. Dad had taken my suit after I _ignored his orders and stole his tech,_ which was _almost_ fair enough, because both of those things were true and it probably _wasn’t_ good to have a multimillion dollar super-weapon with me at school, but that was beside the point because there had just been an explosion _in my school cafeteria_ , and I didn’t have any weapons against it. And even my phone—which had Friday _and_ Tuesday on it—was in homeroom, two floors above.

The screaming suddenly subsided, and the smoke was getting thinner. Thank god I always sat at the far end of the cafeteria, right?

Four dark figures slipped through the double doors in quick succession, and they were holding—

_Fuck_.

They were holding guns.

All around them students—the ones that weren’t unconscious, at least—were cowering back, pressing themselves into corners or under chairs. Good. But I could tell this wasn’t some normal school shooting. How often were there _four_ shooters? How often were they wearing black tactical gear like on some TV show? How often did they also happen to have a bomb with them?

Yeah, no. This was something else.

I slid off my bench and crept sideways. The smoke and dust was thinning. I had to be quick about this. I pressed down the bar of the fire door and pushed it open, just the tiniest bit. It made that leeching sound and I froze, but of course the attackers didn’t hear it. It was creepy. They still hadn’t shot anyone. They were just gesturing kids into corners, observing the room, checking behind the food counters to make sure no cowering kitchen staff were calling the cops.

In a second they’d be coming down here. I edged through the door and hesitated just as I was clicking it shut.

“Olivia?” Brad rose from his salad plate.

My eyes widened. “ _Shh_.”

He glanced around, mouth wide open. He looked like he was going to ask questions, and that would be really bloody annoying because it would attract attention.

I gestured frantically at him and understanding lit in his eyes. He slid under the table and through the door within seconds and I clicked it shut behind him.

“They set off a bomb,” I said, pulling him towards the other side of the courtyard, where another fire door led into the management corridor. “There are four shooters that I saw, but they’re not just school shooters. You need to run upstairs to the smaller Spanish classroom and get my bag—it’s a blue and purple Jack Wills bag—and bring it back to me.”

Ah, _shit_. Fire doors didn’t open from the outside.

I glanced backwards. The windows from the cafeteria into the courtyard were clear, and the shooters could see us at any second if they bothered to look. I edged sideways, pulling off my hoodie and wrapping it around my fist. “Cover your face,” I said, and Brad did moments before I smashed through a window. Miraculously, none of the glass hit me. I draped the hoodie over the windowsill and pushed myself up.

“But, Liv—what are you doing? We should call the police. Or just wait. You know, find a room where we can bar the doors, or get up into the ceiling so we can hide. That’s what we should do.” Brad didn’t sound so sure of himself.

“Nope,” I replied, the glass crunching under my feet as I rounded the Principal’s desk and headed to the door. “That’s not an ordinary school shooting. I’d bet money on it being a criminal group. They want hostages. But for what?”

I chewed my lip as I peered out into the corridor. Empty.

“Alright, take the stairs by the changing rooms and stay out of sight. Get my bag—it’s in the back corner next to my desk—and come to the chemical room for chemistry.”

“What? But, Liv—”

“Brad, I grew up with two spy-assassins, a supersoldier, a god, the hulk, and Iron Man. People have tried to blow up my home no less than four times. If anyone in this school has an inkling of what to do in this type of situation, it’s me. Just _do it_!” I hissed, and rushed out into the corridor. I vaulted the stairs towards the science rooms, and waited a millisecond at the top to see Brad disappear towards the changing room stairs.

Right. He was doing his job. Time for me to do mine.

 

####

 

“I’ve got it,” he gasped, his breathing rough from running.

“Good.” I grabbed another bottle of concentrated hydrochloric acid and poured it through the funnel into my water bottle. “Now dig around in there and find my phone.”

There was a rummaging sound before he produced the small black rectangle.

“Good. Friday? Piggyback on police radios, find out if there’s a hostage situation in other parts of the city.”

A moment, then: “The NYPD have been alerted to four hostage situation around the city, seemingly linked to one another. Bronx Science High; Midtown High Science and Technology; Central Park zoo; New York Public Library. At each one, at least one bomb was set off, and a number of gunmen have been reported. The hostiles have given no indication of their goal, and have stated that if they see a policeman, soldier, or enhanced individual within one hundred metres of the building, they will shoot three hostages.”

I hissed. Not good. But for them not to have stated what they want? “Friday, do the hostiles have radio contact, and if they do, piggyback it. I want to hear what they’re up to.”

“Yes, Miss, I can detect radio waves. However, the message is unclear due to distance.”

She patched me into a channel of white noise, cut through with an occasional angry voice that I couldn’t understand.

“I need to hear what they’re saying. I’m getting closer,” I said and swept the bottles of acid and ethanol into my bag.

“What? No! You can’t!” Brad’s grip on my arm was tight, but the moment I gave him a pointed look, he let go.

I marched to the cleaning cupboard and yanked it open, searching through the stacks of bottles. Bleach. There it was. I added two bottles to my bag.

“I can,” I said, straightening up, “and I will. Don’t worry. I have a plan.”


	13. Sugar, sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: attack on a school (continued)

I dug my elbows into the foamy surface of the ceiling tiles and pushed myself onwards, my muscles screaming from the commando-crawl I’d been doing since first entering the roof tiles from the changing rooms. Crawling through the ceiling gap was surprisingly hard. I clutched my phone in my left hand and pushed my backpack with my right hand. I stopped, the muscles in my core aching, and pressed my ear to the dusty tiles. _Gross_.

“What the hell is going on in there?” someone whispered below me. “Stay down, Kasey! And shut up! They might hear you!” Other whispers and hisses followed. If I had to guess—and considering the situation, I _did_ have to—I was above the Psychology classroom, three rooms away from the cafeteria. A group of the girls in my year always sat there to have lunch instead of braving the lunchroom, and Kasey Colton was among them.

I arched my back enough to slide the tile up and in front, and stuck my head down into the room. “Hey!” I hissed, and the girls’ heads snapped upwards. Three of them yelped, and I flinched backwards. “Shut up or you’re going to get us killed!” I said, and they stilled.

“Olivia?” said Kasey, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied. “You can climb through the ceiling, but be careful, ‘cause it might break if you put too much pressure on one point. Get to the stairs and then go a few floors up just to put some distance between you and the shooters, then get to the gym. The police have got a rescue station set up there through the windows, ‘cause the shooters don’t have visual on that part of the building.”

They stared at me like I was some sort of omniscient ghost, when really I was just repeating the info Friday had fed me a minute before. I stared back, an eyebrow raised, waiting for one of them to move or reply. Finally, after at least a minute, Charlotte Siller stood up. “Where are you going?”

I bit my cheek. “Doesn’t matter. You guys should get out.” If she knew, she’d either try and come with me, or try to convince me not to do it.

Charlotte blinked with red-rimmed eyes, and then nodded, and leaned down. She strained, like she was lifting something heavy, and I realised that it was a body.

My heart clenched, but after a second, the smaller girl groaned. Blood covered her top half, but more like shrapnel patterns than bullets. So she’d been near the explosion, then. “No, Charlie. You should go. Leave me here.”

“No. We’re both going.”

Another girl lifted her on the other side and a third lifted a chair on top of a desk. Seemed like they were doing okay, then, and though it was getting harder and harder to swallow, I had to carry on with my plan.

I spun myself and hooked the backpack over my shoulder despite the crushingly tiny space I had available. Dropping my feet down through the gap, I hoped to whatever gods existed that my abysmal upper body strength was enough to not get me killed.

Bracing my arms, I scooted my butt off the tile and started to lower myself down. The girls gave me weird looks, but there was enough barely-controlled panic in their eyes that I could tell they didn’t want to know.

So I peeked round the corner, making sure the corridor was empty, and, without a word, slipped out of the classroom.

And it was weird. The apprehension in my stomach was growing, because, other than the bomb—and even that had been small—I hadn’t seen any signs of damage outside the cafeteria or heard any gunshots. It was like they were staying in there and continuing to do nothing. Like they were around just for hostages, rather than the traditional I’ll-kill-anyting-that-moves, school shooter mentality.

But if—as Friday reported from the police radios—they were refusing to make demands, then you kinda had to wonder what the hostages were for.

To make a point? But they hadn’t shown any affiliation, hadn’t given any messages. To scare people? But then they’d do more shooting, and less nothing. To distract people? But, from _what_.

And was this part of something bigger? Across the hall, I slipped into the Principal’s office, with its sheen of glass from my window-breaking exercise. I slid my backpack off and pulled out the first two of thebottles: bleach, and ethanol. I grabbed the pencil pot from the Principal’s desk, emptied it out, and poured half of each bottle in. Immediately, fumes hit my face. Ugh. But it smelled like I expected:

Chloroform.

I tore a strip off the bottom of my shirt and dipped it in the liquid, tucking it up my sleeve whilst keeping my face far away from it. Now for the other bottles. I tucked the bleach and and ethanol back in and pulled out the concentrated acid, unscrewing the water bottle’s lid and leaving the cap on the desk.

“Hey, Friday. Got a read on the radio yet?” I whispered, tucking y backpack behind the desk.

“Yes, Miss,” she replied, and then the audio morphed into voices over white noise.

_“They’re into the vault. We’re almost ready to finish up here, Chris. Ten minutes.”_

_“Copy that, Jakey. Are we wiping or leaving?”_

_“Wiping the ones in this room, because they’ve heard the plans, but don’t bother with the rest of the school. We don’t want to be_ brutal _, after all. But leave it until the end; no point bringing the Beast in here, all desperate, with their guns blazing.”_

_A chuckle._

Oh, _shit_. They were going to kill every kid in that cafeteria. I needed to hurry the fuck up.

My phone buzzed, and I could have killed it right at that second if, when I turned the screen, it didn’t have my dad’s face plastered across it. I hurriedly swiped to _answer,_ and held the phone to my ear.

“Dad? Dad, now is really _not_ a good time.”

“Jesus, Olivia, are you safe? Get into a safe place right now and don’t you dare even think about—”

“Hey, Dad, Friday’s piggybacked on their radios. This whole thing is a distraction. They’re in a bank vault. They’re after money. Tell the police. Bye!” I whisper-shouted and hung up. He could force the call through if he wanted, but he wouldn’t risk that when the noise could alert an attacker.

Little did he know that alerting an attacker was exactly what I was trying to do.

The chloroform tucked up my sleeve and a bottle of acid in my hand, I crunched over the glass and tucked myself behind the door. “Ready, Friday?”

“ _Ready, Miss.”_

I counted to three, took a breath, and screamed. The sound was ear-splitting and girly and hopefully very non-threatening.

Friday’s radio picked back up.

“ _What the hell was that?”_

_A snort. “Sounded like a dying pig.”_

_“Go check it out, Chris. We’ve got to cover our bases.”_

_A grumble, then: “Yessir, Eagle, Sir.”_

I clamped down on my grin. This was the _dangerous_ bit.

There was the swinging screech of a door, then the tap of almost-silent footsteps. Tactically trained, then. A killed. Definitely not just a crazy kid who bought a gun off e-bay.

My heart was beating too loudly. The _thump-thump, thump-thump_ was echoing off every wall, magnifying every fear.

_Steps closer._

Thump _-_ thump _._

_Closer still._

Thump-thump.

_Be brave like your father, Liv. For the kids who will die otherwise._

The dark shadow stuck his head through the door and I threw the bottle, acid flying through the air. He screeched, but my hand was already over his mouth. Two bullets flew and I flinched behind his body, ready for the pain.

No bullets hit me, but acid was dripping on my hand from his hair. He struggled against me, flailing, and reality hit me.

This was a fully-grown, tactically-trained killer. How could I, a fifteen year old girl, hope to be stronger than that?

He tensed.

And then he slumped, the chloroform at last kicking in. I yanked him upwards, only able to soften the blow as he hit the floor, unconscious.

Friday’s radio buzzed.

_“What was that, Chris? Chris?”_

_“Ah, fuck off, mate. There was a body in here, sitting bolt upright in his chair. I got jump-scared.”_ The voice of the man who was lying unconscious in front of me reeked of well-meaning embarrassment and the cockiness that you only hear in the voices of men who have fucked up.

 _Jeers and japes came over the comm in the voices of young men,_ and I breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t noticed it wasn’t him. I set my phone down on the desk and took Chris by the wrists, putting all my weight into dragging him sideways.

_“Bet you were the kid that got scared by clowns and bugs, innit Chris?”_

A British one. Interesting.

 _“Ah, fuck off, Dickhead.”_ A well-rehearsed pause by Friday. “ _Actually… Hey, Jake, can you come have a look at this?”_

 _“What is it?”_ echoed another voice back. I took the opportunity to dip another stretch of my shirt into my chloroform and pull out another bottle of HCL.

_“Just… Come have a look, will you?”_

_“Fine, but if it’s another dead body, you’re off the team.”_

The swing of the door echoed again, and this time the voice that echoed out was real. “Chrissy? Which room?”

“Second on the left,” Friday replied, the speakers inimitable. Thank god for my dad and his obsession with quality music.

This time the one that came through the door had his gun down, a grin on his face. He was expecting a friend.

I followed the same movements as last time, letting my body take over. This man was smaller, but still bigger than me. I had to strain to keep his screeches muffled under the rag, but the chloroform took him quicker, and when he hit the ground, the thud was dampened by the flesh of his comrade’s body.

I straightened, panting, and surveyed the two bodies as Friday-as-Chris-and-Jake reassured the other two that they were just checking out something.

Now for the more difficult bit.

It was like chess. There were two shooters left, which meant that if—while I was off preparing the second bit of my plan—one of them came to see what had happened, it would leave a more direct opening in the cafeteria. By leaving this piece—the two bodies—in the open, I was drawing away defence from their King: the Tac Team leader, Eagle, who would stay in the cafeteria.

If, however, they neglected to check on the two missing teammates, then I could take out two opponents at once.

It was risky. People could die. _Kids could die._ But if I didn’t do it… Well, I had heard their conversation. They were going to kill everyone in the cafeteria anyway. And that had to be at least three hundred kids.

 _“Yeah, just coming back now. It was nothing, after all,”_ ‘Chris’ replied to the others’ summons.

I slipped out of the door, the backpack in one hand and the phone in the other, and ducked behind the stairwell at the other end of the corridor. That was one thing I had that the other side didn’t: knowledge of my surroundings. I glided through the corridors, risking my life very heavily on the fact that there were only two shooters left and they were in the cafeteria, and I was right. By the time I had edged myself into the kitchen supply room, I had seen no one.

I really hoped that all the students that I hadn’t seen were out of the school, hugging their parents, rather than lying dead in some corner.

I hunted through the packets and boxes of food, cursing the fact that the school got so much of its food ready made. They had packets of brownies, trays of cookies, but no actual packets of sugar?

Finally, in a corner behind a shelf of pasta, I found them. Six two-kilo bags of sugar. There was probably more elsewhere, but this would be enough for now. I stacked five in my backpack above the bottles of acid, and lifted the bag with the last packet to the top shelf.

Voices—men’s voices—were muffled by the walls but I could hear them. I had come around the back of the cafeteria, and from now on I would have to be very, very quiet.

I pulled myself up the shelves and into the ceiling, dragging the bag up after me. The tile replaced, I started crawling, and tugged the bag along behind me. Sugar spilled out in a neat line, and for a few minutes the only sound was the soft _hiss_ of sugar. Friday was typing up what the other two were saying, but it was only when the third bag of sugar weighed next to nothing that I actually looked at it.

“ _Chris, Jakey, are you coming?”—Rom_

_“Back in a second.”—Friday_

_“Well, hurry up. The Feds have reached the bank and we’ve gotta finish up and get out of here.”—Rom_

_“Hang on a second, boys. I hear something.”—Eagle._

_“What is it, boss?”—Rom_

_“I don’t know. What’s taking you two so long?”—Eagle_

_“We’ll be with you in a moment.”—Friday_

_“Boss.”—Rom_

_“There’s something in here.”—Eagle_

_“Boss.”—Rom_

_“Oh, I don’t know. The brats in here are sniffling so loud that it’s probably just my imagination.”—Eagle_

_“Boss! Chris and Jake are out cold. Chloroform. And they have acid burns all over their ugly faces. We have a hostile. Kill on sight?”—Rom_

Well, shit. Guess my secret plan wasn’t so secret after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okie dokie kiddos. PSA: if you are in a school shooter situation, DON'T TRY THIS. Either get out of the school or hide. And while being in the ceiling is better than nothing, most will collapse under pressure (like me lol) so it's a pretty dangerous choice. 
> 
> Also, don't worry. Within like three chapters we'll be back to Stark-Parker family fluff


	14. NYPD

I struck the match, lit the end of the sugar trail, and let the roof tile fall back into place. _One, two, three_ , and _boom_. Screams echoed from the other room, but they weren’t pained—they were confused. The sugar, capped across the light fixtures throughout the ceiling of the cafeteria, had exploded. And, just like, I planned, the lights had blown.

Friday’s radio whispered. _“What the hell was that, Eagle?”_

_“Apparently our hostile has decided to bring the fight to us. Alright, Romeo, moving out in two. We find this brat—he’s started to annoy me—then come back and clean up the rest of the kids here. Take the first right, we’ll clear that are and then double back and take left.”_

Great. They were doing exactly what I had hoped they would do, and now two heavily armed and experienced men were going to try to kill me.

“Friday,” I whispered to my phone as I slipped out of the storage room. “Alert the NYPD. The back windows of the cafeteria are clear and the hostiles are away from the hostages.”

And now I just had to distract them for long enough that it stayed that way, all while staying alive.

Halfway along the corridor, the fuse cupboard sat in the wall. I wrenched it open and tipped the last two bags of sugar in there. Fumbling in my pockets for the matches, I listened out for footsteps. They weren’t in my left pocket, or my right. _Shit._ I tipped out my bag, rummaging through the various bottles, books, and scraps of paper, but—

No matches.

Shit.

_Shit._

_“Romeo, shoot anything that moves. And I mean_ anything _. In case I have to remind you, half our team is down thanks to this little shit, and who knows what info he got out of the other two? He’s got to die.”_

Footsteps approached, heavy and controlled. They were just around the corner. I couldn’t outrun them—they’d shoot me on sight. So it had to be attack.

“Friday,” I hissed, placing my phone in a well of sugar in the half-open fuse box. “When they get within a metre of the fuse box, short circuit the battery. We need a spark.”

I’d be left without my back-up, but if this worked, I wouldn’t need back-up, and if it didn’t work… well, I wouldn’t need back-up then, either.

Friday’s confirmation was lost as I crouched in the cleaning cupboard next to the fuse box and stilled my breathing.

Closer.

Closer.

_Closer._

“Eagle, you seeing that?” The voices were real this time; no Friday carrying it across radio signals. “The fuse box. It’s open. Must be how the little fucker turned our lights out.”

I crossed my fingers and edged another bottle of acid out of my bag. _Do what I want you to do. Do what I want you to do!_

The footsteps edged nearer.

“Careful, Rom. Don’t want another—”

A sound like a hundred boxes of firecrackers exploding burst into my head. Popping and booming and yelling from the men. I threw the door open and tossed my bottle. The acid flew into the face of the larger man and I lashed out, foot connecting with the soft tissue of his groin.

I silently thanked Nat for the move, and dove to catch the AK-5C before it hit the ground. I grunted on impact and rolled, imitating all the hours I’d spent playing spies with Morgan in the garden.

I stumbled to my feet and almost tripped over in my haste to get back, to get away, to put distance between me and the two attackers.

Sure enough, one of them was lying on the floor, skin pockmarked with a thousand tiny cuts from the sugar bomb. The other, Eagle, was whimpering, his hands on his crotch. My acid had mostly missed, then. But within seconds, the first rolled onto his front and gripped his gun tighter.

“ _Stay down,”_ I said with as much force as I could. _Think Natasha. Think Wanda. Think Carol._ I lifted the gun, mimicking how I’d seen it done in films. “Or I’ll shoot.”

There was silence for a moment, punctuated only by the groans and whimpers of the bigger guy, Eagle. Romeo looked up. I steadied myself, ready to shoot. I could do this. I’d never shot a gun before, but I’d used my Iron suit and how different could it be?

And then he started laughing.

“A girl? Really?” He thumped the floor, his laughter turning into a cough. I steeled my jaw. His mistake. Better that he underestimate me than the other way round.

Footsteps sounded behind me and I span, ready to shoot.

“Woah! Woah, there, Kid!” The police officer spread his hands, his gun pointed towards the ceiling. “We’re on your side.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I said, melting. The gun was practically sliding out of my hands. “Thank god. There’s two more of them in the principal’s office. Did you find them? Is my dad here?”

The police officer reached out and took the gun from me. I let him. Another man, clad in black tac gear that was two sizes too big for him with NYPD written across the front, gripped Romeo’s hand and yanked him to his feet. “That depends,” the first one said. “Who’s your dad?”

“Tony Stark. Is he here?”

The police officer’s eyes widened and I readied myself for the questions and the blathering

"Can I leave?" I asked instead, glancing sideways at the attackers. But _—_ something wasn't right. Instead of handcuffing Romeo, the police officer was brushing him down, straightening his jacket.

I dug my heels into the floor, ready to run, but something dark appeared in the corner of my eye and I hit the ground hard, my head ringing.

 _He hit me,_ I thought, the words tainted with confusion. _The police officer hit me._

“Get her in the van,” said a low voice above me. “This might have turned into a massive clusterfuck because of her, but we can still salvage it.”

“Chris and Jake?” someone else asked.

“In the van already.”

"Friday," I hissed, before I remembered that my phone was broken into pieces, used as my spark for the sugar bomb.

There were hands under my arms and the corridor swam around me. All I heard was, “Oh, the boss is gonna like this,” before it all turned black.


	15. hostage

“You find out where my daughter is or I’ll—”

Peter held his breath as Tony cut was cut off. He was gripping the phone so tight that Peter was afraid it was going to smash

“Yes, I understand that kidnapping isn’t under SHIELD’s jurisdiction, but to be honest, Fury, I don’t care! My _daughter_ has been taken, and I—”

He slammed the phone down onto the bonnet of the car and Peter had to resist the urge to flinch back. Tony stalked away, running a hand through his hair. The crowds of spectators huddling around the police barriers were staring at him, filming him. Peter didn’t even think Tony cared. He just cared about getting Olivia back.

 _I should have been with her,_ Peter thought. _I should have been there to stop them_.

Instead, he was standing in the school parking lot, watching and listening as Mr Stark shouted at various people, Mrs Potts negotiated with the Feds, Happy helped Friday monitor security cams of the city’s roads, and students draped in shock blankets clustered around ambulances. MJ and Ned were both back at the Stark Tower, where all the field trip students were being picked up from. Only Peter, who had been rushed here with Mr Stark and Mrs Potts, was both a student in the school and hadn’t been in it during the attack.

It looked exactly the same on the outside, and yet somewhere in there, Liv had been kidnapped.

“Anything?” he asked, coming up behind Happy.

He shook his head. “CCTV caught a white van backing up in the alley behind the school and a black duffel bag being thrown in the back, as well as three unidentified people getting in, but CCTV loses the van outside Harlem.” He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his forehead. “Honestly, if we’d just had a little more time, got the drones out sooner, we would have been able to do this, but…"

Peter nodded silently. If he’d been at the school, instead of moping in Stark Tower, then he could’ve bought them that time. And Liv wouldn’t be stuck in a duffel bag in the back of some van.

A hand brushed Peter’s shoulder and he turned, fingers flicking towards his web shooters. But it was just a girl he recognised from Liv’s class with dark brown hair covered in dust and cobwebs.

“Peter,” she said. “I’m Charlotte. You’re friends with Olivia, aren’t you?”

He nodded, his throat too stuck to use words.

Charlotte glanced over Peter’s shoulder to where the Starks were standing. “I wanted to go and tell Olivia’s dad,” she said, “But he seemed really angry so I thought I’d tell you instead.” She took a deep breath. “When we were inside… Me and some other girls were in the Spanish classroom next to the cafeteria, and about half an hour after the bomb went off, Olivia stuck her head through the ceiling.”

Peter frowned. Had he heard that correctly? “Through the _ceiling_?” he asked.

Charlotte nodded shakily. “Yeah. She’d pulled up one of those grey tile things. She told me and the other girls to climb through the ceiling to get to the gym where the police were.”

That explained the fluff covering her hair.

“All the others went, but my friend, Remi, she’d been hurt, so I stayed with her. And Olivia came down from the ceiling and went into the corridor. She wouldn’t say what she was doing, but… there was a bottle of bleach poking out of her backpack, and I think she might have been trying to attack the—the shooter people.” Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked like she was about to cry. “Anyway, I heard screams coming from the cafeteria, and I thought I should get Remi out of there so we went over to the other side of the building, further away from the cafeteria, and—and, about ten minutes later, this van drove up and parked on the other side of the fence.”

Peter tensed. A van. The van they’d put Liv in.

“Then all these men in black passed the classroom, and the door was kinda stuck so I could see out a bit, but anyway—they were carrying Liv. And then she woke up and started screaming and punching them, but I knew she’d never get past them. She grabbed one of the guy’s headphone things from his ear and started sprinting down the corridor, but they just laughed, and one of them shot—they shot her in the leg.” Charlotte started sobbing, her chest heaving up and down. “She was screaming and bleeding everywhere.”

They shot her. _They shot Liv_.

Then something snapped in Peter’s mind. “Oh, my god. Charlotte, do you think they noticed that Liv took the transmitter?”

“The headphone?” Charlotte sniffled and looked back towards the building as if it would help her remember. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t see them take it back. I thought she’d dropped it.”

Peter turned back towards the Starks. Pepper and Tony were arguing now, whisper-shouting that could only mean that Tony was planning on going after Liv. “Thank you, Charlotte—” he shouted, ducking between the police cars and people. “Mr Stark!”

Neither he or Pepper responded, and Peter pulled to a stop right between them.

“Mr Stark, I think I know how to find Olivia.”

 

####

 

A blinking dot on a map, just across the border in Connecticut. And the message, made out in just dull thuds that sounded like when someone tapped a speaker?

 

-.. .- -..

-.. .- -..

-.. .- -..

 

_Dad_

_Dad_

_Dad_

 

“You’ve found her,” Tony breathed, staring at the screen. “Peter, you did it.”

“Well,” Peter stammered. “It was really Liv that did it. I mean, she was the one that managed to build and hide a long-range radio transmitter from a short-range comm set while in a duffel bag in the back of a moving van.”

That didn’t appear to matter to Mr Stark. He pulled Peter in for a hug, his arms wrapped tight around Peter’s back. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he was gone, rushing across the tarmac back towards the car. Peter glanced back at Happy, who was snapping down the lids of the laptops, and sprinted towards the car and Tony and Pepper.

Except. Except Mr Stark was going to try and break into whatever that place was without help, Peter could bet. And he couldn’t wear the suits. His vibranium arm was still new. And no matter how much of a hero he would always be to Peter, he was getting old. He could get shot. And at the end of it all, he was still just a man.

And Peter, with his car-hopping, building-swinging technology, could get there faster.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he sprinted, launching himself over the police barrier and ignoring the shouts of the crowd. He took three turns before finding a dark, narrow alley, and started pulling his shirt off. Beneath them, his suit lay. He tugged the mask out of the pocket of his jeans and yanked it on.

He was Spider-man, and he was going to save Olivia _and_ make sure Tony didn’t get hurt.

He abandoned the clothes. Those, he could come back to later.

“Hello, Peter,” said Karen, her voice as calm as always. “Would you like me to track a route towards the FM signal that Friday locked onto six minutes ago?”

“Do it,” Peter managed to choke out, and a winding map appeared on his screen.

The exhilaration of swinging through the air, wind kissing his cheeks, was lost on Peter. He just needed to get to Olivia, needed to make sure that nothing happened to her. He made it out of New York before the first wave of thoughts hit, but once he was lying flat on the back of a freight lorry, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

_If I hadn’t been so needy, I would have been at school with Liv. I would have been able to protect her._

_What Mr Stark said—“You don’t have to be ashamed just because you’re still healing”—it didn’t apply here. No matter how true the words were, how about, ‘You don’t have to be ashamed just because your ‘healing process’ caused someone you love to be kidnapped’? Yeah, no one would ever say that._

Karen told him to jump to a smaller car’s roof and he did. As he was flying through the air, the sun-roof opened. He shot out a web, but out on the freeway there was nothing to stick to. He slumped into the back seat of the car and was instantly ready so jump again, but—

“Mr Stark?”

“Hey, kid,” said the driver without turning. “Any particular reason you decided to disappear off without telling us?”

“But—Mr Stark—” Peter spluttered. “I thought—where’s your Iron Man suit?”

Tony huffed and Pepper, who was in the seat next to him, turned to look at Peter. Her expression was hard-set, fierce, and if the ferocity had been aimed at him, Peter would have quailed even more than he did. “I managed to convince him not to follow that particular idea of his.”

Peter nodded silently, still dumbfounded. “How did you—how did you find me?”

“Told Karen to direct you to us. You do realise that I still have complete technical control over Karen’s actions?”

But— Oh. That actually made sense. “Traitor,” Peter muttered, and pulled off his mask.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Kiddo. What the hell were you thinking, coming out here all on your lonesome to take out an enemy that you don’t know anything about?”

Peter’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything. What was there to say? Now that Mr Stark said it like that, it sounded stupid. “I just—I wanted to make sure that you didn’t get hurt, Mr Stark,” he said lamely.

There was silence for a minute in the car. Peter swallowed. He knew that it made little sense. He was Iron Man. _Tony Stark_. And Peter Parker, a sixteen year old from Queens, thought that he could do what Mr Stark couldn’t, just because Mr Stark had a few gray hairs? Peter looked down at his lap. _Stupid_.

“That’s real nice of you, Peter,” Tony said after a pause, his voice rough, and Peter glanced up. That was… not really what he had been expecting. “And I appreciate it. I really do. But one of my kids is already missing. It wouldn’t be good for my cholesterol _or_ my intense planning skills if I had to worry about you, too.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. _One of my kids_. As if Peter was another. “I’m sorry, Mr Stark,” he managed to say.

In the mirror, Tony’s eyes softened. They were still strained, tense, terrified, but somehow—muted. Like one worry was gone.“For the record,” Tony said, “If you ever try to storm a terrorist base by yourself again, I _will_ be locking you up in my house for the rest of your life.”

“So I’m not going in there?” Peter asked. He had to. He had to make it better for Liv. When she had taken the force of the stones, when she had flown through New York in her pyjamas, when she had taken on four trained killers, he hadn’t been there for her. Not properly. And now she was kidnapped, and he wouldn’t be able to help her even now?

“Nope.” Mr Stark popped the sound resolutely.

“Hang on,” Peter said, the cogs in his mind whirring. “If _you’re_ not going in there, and _I’m_ not going in there—who is?”

Tony swallowed audibly, for Peter at least. “Steve,” he replied. “And Bucky Barnes.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Seriously? How come?”

Mr Stark sighed. “They just so happened to be on holiday near the beach. With the jet. Visiting some place they used to go to back in the forties.”

“Oh,” was all Peter could say. “That’s… convenient.”

Mr Stark didn’t reply.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. An image flashed to mind of Mr Stark in the car when he dropped Peter back at his apartment after the Leipzig fight. A black eye had stood out on his face like ink on white paper. From Bucky’s punches. And worse, beneath the glint of intelligence and wit in his eyes, there had been a blankness. From Steve’s betrayal.

And now Mr Stark was relying on them to save his daughter.

“There’s one job I have for you, Peter,” Mr Stark said, and Peter snapped to attention.

“Anything.”

Tony held up a tiny chip, like a memory-stick, but constantly shifting in shape and colour. “This is a nano-chip. Liv’s their hostage, which makes this whole thing dangerous. If they hear gunshots, they might just shoot her. Which is why she needs this earpiece so she knows exactly what’s going down and when. It’s a transmitter, too, so we’ll be able to hear what’s going on in there. You need to get it to Liv before Rogers and Barnes start their attack.”

He tossed it into the backseat and Peter’s hand flashed upwards to catch it. “Sure thing, Mr Stark. So—uhh—were you thinking I’d use my webbing for that? Or just like, stealth creep in there.”

Mr Stark looked horrified. “No, definitely not. No, you will be using _this.”_

Like magic, the back of the seat in front of Peter twisted, and a screen appeared, showing two leather seats and the sky between them. It showed the inside of _this car_. With arrows and buttons in the bottom corners. Peter looked back at the chip in his hand. Sure enough, it had moulded itself into a tiny set of wheels with a camera on the front.

“So, I’m Spider-man, and instead of using my wicked heroic powers like super strength or Spidey-sense to save Olivia, you want me to use my _video game skills_?”

Mr Stark smiled, though it was a caricature of how he was when none of his family members had been kidnapped. “Exactly.”

 

####

Peter was starting to think that the remote-control-nano-chip was more to keep him away from the battle than it was to get the chip to Olivia. After all, he was sitting two feet behind the man who had revolutionized the self-driving car. He was about to bring it up when they slid to a stop in the middle of a copse of trees. At the bottom of the hill sat a barn, seemingly deserted. A quick scan from Karen revealed bunkers and heat signatures with at least three floors beneath the surface.

Mr Stark got out of the car and Peter and Pepper followed suit. Barnes and Rogers emerged from the trees, and a few metres behind them, Peter saw the glint of metal that signified a ghosting quinjet.

“Tony.”

“Rogers. Barnes.” Mr Stark’s voice was tight, but his gaze wasn’t hostile, despite the fact that he very carefully wasn’t looking at Bucky. Perhaps the five years had done one good thing, then.

Bucky just gave a nod. Steve’s gaze slid over Peter and Pepper and he sighed. “Let’s do this.”


	16. Handcuffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there! I'm sorry this chapter is kinda short and I've only managed one today. I've had a friend over so I haven't really had much time to write. We went to see FFH (second time for me) and I loved it again!  
> Anyway, back to the actual story; enjoy!

Muffled voices invaded my thoughts. I blinked, once, twice, and saw flashes of a room,like a police holding cell, with a table and a wall of mirror. A throbbing pain in my thigh washed over me and I swallowed, forcing myself to stay lucid. _What…_ I tried to bend my wrists, but a flash of cold and pain went up them at the movement.

Handcuffs.

I let my eyes flutter closed again and stayed slumped in the chair, loosening my body. The mirror was one way glass.I would have bet on it. Which meant that there could be someone watching me. And if I could pretend I was still unconscious, there was a chance I might be able to get the drop on them.

I forced myself to take a slow, deep, breath that made my head hurt.

So I was handcuffed. I shifted a little and bit my cheek to avoid screaming from the pain in my thigh. My ankles, too, were cuffed to the chair. But—one tiny stroke of luck—the radio transmitter that I had fashioned in that tiny duffle bag was still lodged in the band of my bra, digging into my left arm. _Thank god_. And it was probably still transmitting. _I_ hadn’t turned it off, and if my captors had found it they would have taken it, so clearly _they_ hadn’t turned it off.

I let my head fall downwards and my back strained. Great. Head, thigh, back—was there any part of me that _didn’t_ hurt? But now I was in the position I needed. My eyes fluttered open and I studied what I could see.

Grey cement floor. The legs of a table. My own ankles, cuffed to the chair. A red stain, spreading all across my right thigh. But I had been shot in the back of the thigh, trying to run, and there was no exit hole on the front, so the bullet was still in there. I took a deep breath, pushing down the panic, and continued to study the room. The bottom of a door, set into the wall about three metres away from me. And I couldn’t see it now, but I knew that there was a one-way window.

This seemed to me like an interrogation room.

The door opened and I pressed my eyes shut again. Brown boots, nondescript, and the cuffs of grey jeans. “You don’t have to pretend,” a low, male voice said. “We’re monitoring your heart activity. We know you’re awake.”

I swallowed. That was… not good. But just because they knew I was awake didn’t mean they had to know I wasn’t stupid. I glanced up, letting every ounce of fear and pain in me wash into my eyes. They stung. “Who are you?” I whispered.

The man, who wore a black t-shirt and hoodie over his jeans, sat down across from me. “That doesn’t matter,” he replied, and studied me. He was so normal that it was almost boring. Medium brown hair. Brown eyes. Not handsome, but not ugly. Clean-shaven and white-skinned. “What I want to know is, who are you?”

Ah. So they didn’t know then. “No one,” I whisper replied. “My name is Livia Black, I’m—I’m just a student. You have to let me _go_.” The stutter came easier than I would have liked.

The man leaned forward. “Unfortunately,” he said, “You’ve already told us that you are Olivia Stark, so I don’t think we’re quite going to believe you on that one.”

I bit my tongue. I remembered now. I had told the police officers, who hadn’t been police officers at all, that my dad was Tony Stark. “Well,” I said, “You can’t expect me to remember everything that happens before being smacked round the head, shot in the leg, and thrown in the back of a van.”

“On the contrary,” he smiled, “it seems like you remember it all quite well. Tell me, though, just to satisfy a personal curiosity, what possessed you to try and attack _four trained killers_ without even one of Daddy’s gadgets.”

Yeah. That was possibly… a bit stupid. But all the students in the cafeteria—ones who would have been killed if not for me—were safe now, weren’t they? I had at least bought the real police time to get them out. “You attacked my school,” I said after a second. “And you could call me fussy, but I prefer my places of learning _without_ splatters of blood everywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that’s fair,” he replied. “Alright, well, I hope that you find it all worth it, and, while I’m sure your daddy can cough up enough money to satisfy my superiors, I hope he manages to do it before that leg wound gets infected.”

 _Money?_ I let out a laugh. “This is about _money?_ ” I asked.

He frowned. “Of course it’s about money. We may have unconventional methods, but my group is like any other; we needed some cash, and _someone_ managed to thwart our bank-robbing plan, so you’ve forced us to adopt a less kind approach.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I hissed. Money was easy. Money was nothing. Whatever they were asking for, I knew my dad would be pay it.

“Of course, that’s not all we’re asking for,” the man continued. I looked up at him. His eyes were narrowed, watching to see what my reaction would be. “We’re also going to demand two Iron suits.”

Ah, _shit._ The feeling of dread dropped right to the bottom of my stomach. Money was easy. Iron Man suits? Not so much. I had a sick, burning premonition that even if my dad wanted to do it, even if Pepper and Rhodey were behind him, the world wouldn’t let him. _Billionaire tech-genius gives weapons of mass destruction to terrorist in return for a teenage girl?_ Yeah, no. And I didn’t want him to, either. They’d just go into more schools and kill more kids.

“He won’t do it,” I said.

The man showed his palms to the ceiling, as if to say, _Who can tell?_ “We’ll see,” he said. “Of course, we’re going to need your help filming the video.” A smile crossed his lips. “Can’t say we’ll be paying Hollywood fees, but then again, the filming process will only take a few minutes.”

I nodded silently. My gaze drifted away from him, came to rest on the bullet wound in my leg. _The Avengers will come for me_ , I wanted to say. _My Dad is friends with the most powerful people on earth. You think you can keep them from me?_

I didn’t say it. If I warned them, they would bring up the defences. Better for them to think I was weak, alone, that they didn’t need to do much more than film a scary video and put it up on youtube, and that the bank accounts would do the negotiating.

The door opened again and I snapped my eyes up. A smaller woman, wearing a white lab coat over a sundress, poked her head through. “Hey, Malcolm,” she said, her eyes drifting to me. “This is her, then? Wow. Never thought I’d get to be in the same room as someone that famous outside of a meet-and-greet,” she said, a bitter, mocking tone entering her voice.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Get on with it. The blood work’s back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mused, brandishing a piece of paper. I winked at her and she glared back before tearing her eyes away. “So, she _is_ viable for the one we talked about, but—”

“Great! Thanks, Jeanie, that’s all I needed to hear.” He stood and crossed to my side of the table, his cold hands brushing my ankles as he undid my cuffs.

“But, Mal, there’s something else you might want to hear.” Jeanie entered the room properly now, and stood just in front of the table, her eyes shifting between me and her boss. Malcolm stilled, and he must have signalled for her to go on, because she slid the paper across to my side of the table. “She’s viable for the _other_ one, as well.”

Malcolm tensed and stood, his hands still gripping my wrists. “I didn’t tell you to test for that.”

“I know, I know, but—don’t you think that it would more dramatic? I mean, Stark’s already seen the Extremis in action, but—”

“Hang on,” I said, my tongue finally getting the better of me. “You’re going to inject me with _Extremis?”_

They both looked at me. “You know what that is?” the woman said after a second, reverence in her voice.

“Yes, I know what that is! My mother invented it! And she _died_ trying to stop it from being used!” Which meant that these two—that the terrorists—the people who had tried to destroy my school— "The Mandarin. That’s who you are.”

The two of them shared a look but stayed silent.

"You're the ones who killed my mother." Now, instead of my thigh, my throat was burning. I wanted to spit fire at these terrorists. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, another image—a blurred, zoomed-in-too-far photo of a glowing person breathing fire—and the reality of Extremis hit me. And they were going to inject  _me_ with it? After the disaster that had been 2013?

Another look. “That would depend on who your mother is.”

 _Maya Hansen_ , I wanted to say. _A better person than either of you._ But, no. Stupid. Too stupid. That was one of the secrets Tony had managed to keep secret from the press even when they dug their hardest. And that advantage—whatever advantage it offered—wasn’t something I wanted to lose just because I couldn’t hold my tongue.

I took a deep breath. _Stay smart, Liv. You can’t afford to be sloppy._ And if I wanted to keep them away from my mother, then I had to direct them towards something else. Like anger. ”Can I ask you a question?"

A third shared look. ”Depends on the question."

Alright. Fair enough. I steeled myself for a beating, and carefully enunciated the words, "Can I have the wifi password?”

Jeanie’s hand flew towards my face and I flinched backwards, but it never hit. Malcolm had caught her wrist. Still, I had to bite my cheek to get through the burning, itching pain in my thigh. It was probably just my mind making things up, but I could feel the bullet in there.

Malcolm dropped Jeanie’s wrist and pushed her towards the door. With a grimace, he pulled me up from the chair and shoved me forward. I cried out, the burning in my thigh near unbearable now. “I’m sorry, girly,” he said, and I dug my heels into the floor, pushing against the fire in my leg. _Not_   _Extremis. Not Extremis._ “But we’ve got a video to film."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow hopefully I'll get around to the video/the rescue attempt/and something else bigggg that's a surprise.


	17. Snow Globe of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to get another one up tonight. Enjoy!  
> TW: gunshots, hospital beds, kind of torture but not really... that's it I think?

A medical bed, covered in straps and ropes, standing almost upright in the middle of a blank, cement barn-sized room with a video camera set opposite. Bar-shaped fluorescent lights in the ceiling gave the room a cold, scientific feel, and the few people milling about where in white lab coats, but this was no lab. There was a grungy wooden stool next to the medical chair holding a syringe and a packet of wet wipes.

I stopped, leaning against the doorway, for a moment forgetting the pistol Malcolm had produced and was currently holding to the small of my back. The whole set up reminded me of the video of my dad’s capture. The one I had never been supposed to see, with a sack over his head, and blood on his shirt, and masked soldiers standing around him. My breathing was getting fast, and I forced myself to slow. _Don’t let them see you scared_. Whether or not help was on its way—whether or not Dad or Peter or any bloody superhero in the vicinity was coming—there was no. Point. In being. Scared.

That didn’t make the panic go away.

Because I had also seen videos of the Extremis virus. I knew that 97.5% of the population died in agony, screaming as their bodies were burned up from the inside out. And the other 2.5%—of which I was apparently a part—turned into crazy, glowing, over-aggressive fire monsters that had almost killed my dad. This had almost killed Pepper. This was what my mother had died trying to stop.

Faces had turned towards me in the room. There were only a few of them, but the message was clear; they didn’t have to worry about me knowing names, recognising faces. Once the Extremis was in my veins, the biggest threat I posed would be fiery temper tantrums. Malcolm pushed me towards the bed. I stumbled and crashed to the floor, crying out at the pain in my thigh.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Seriously?”

I glared at him through the haze of tears and pushed myself up onto my forearms. “Maybe if you gave me a crutch or didn’t make me walk around, or, like, _hadn’t shot me in the first place_ , then I wouldn’t be so annoying.”

“We can’t give you a crutch. You’ll try to fight us with it. And hey, I’m not the one who shot you.”

“Oh, that’s just fine then,” I said, sarcasm dripping. _Good_. _The longer I’m lying on the floor, the longer until I get injected with Extremis._

Malcolm huffed a sigh and looked around, before flicking the safety on his pistol and tucking it into his waistband. “I have to do everything around here.”

“That’s what happens when you work for— _Get your hands off me!”_ I hissed, but he just grunted and straightened up, one hand under my knees and one across my back.

“Chill out, girlie. Just giving you a hand, that’s all. Jesus, what have you been _eating_? You’re like a sack of bricks.”

“Feel free to not bother carrying me over to your death-machine,” I muttered. My eyes were fixed on the bed. The ropes and straps. They were—they were to tie me down. I was sure of it. And the camera was to film my screaming, burning pain and send it to my father. And the syringe…

Yeah, no. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for breathing fire.

Malcolm tensed, as if he could tell what I was about to do, but my fist had already made contact with his nose. He yelled and dropped me, but I was expecting this. I grunted as I hit the floor and rolled. Blood filled my mouth. I pushed myself away from the bed with my good leg until my back hit the wall and lifted the pistol in my hand, flicking off the safety.

I almost felt bad for Malcolm. His hand went to the back of his waistband. His eyes widened as he realised. Empty. Yeah, sucks for him.

“You fell on purpose,” he snarled.

“Actually I didn’t. It was you shoving me, someone who has been shot in the leg, with a gun that made me fall over. Turned out pretty well for me, though.” I bit my cheek and used the wall to push myself to standing, all my weight on my left leg.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, girlie,” Malcolm said, and gestured around him. I followed his gaze.

Ah, _shit_. I had forgotten about them. The scientists, each of whom was staring at me, fixated, was pointing a gun in my direction. Seriously? “Since when did scientists carry _guns_?” I said. My stomach was still roiling, and my thigh was throbbing harder with each passing second, but so what? If I was going to go down, I was going to go down swinging.

 

“Since when did CEOs create weapons of mass destruction that only _they_ are allowed to use?” said the woman from earlier. Jeanie, her name was.

“To be fair,” I replied, scanning the room, “He _was_ the CEO of a _weapons_ company. You know, the kind that makes _weapons_.”

To that, they didn’t reply. _If only my cutting wit could actually cut things,_ I thought. The camera, standing in the middle of the room between the medical bed and the scientists’ stations stood on a tripod, with some king of crate next to it. If I could get to the tripod, then I would have a makeshift crutch, and I might actually be able to go somewhere. It didn’t solve all my problems, but it might just solve one.

 _Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out_. Kind of unfortunate that my Great Plan only extended to that. I had a gun, yes, but I was also shot, and I was standing in a room full of other people who also had guns. All of which were pointing at me.

For a second, I wondered what would happen if I turned the gun on myself. After all, you couldn’t demand a ransom if you didn’t have a hostage. But I actually didn’t really want to die. So, towards the tripod it was.

I pushed myself away from the wall and kept my gun trained in the general vicinity of the scientists. My right leg was useless. I could barely even touch the tip of my toe to the ground without pain shooting up it. Actually, scratch that: even when my toes weren’t touching the ground, pain was shooting up my leg.

Their eyes were following me, as were their guns.

Sweat beaded on my forehead from the effort of movement, and I wiped it away.

Finally, I reached the tripod. My eyes were still on the scientists. Malcolm was edging backwards, towards the safety of the doors. My heart was thumping in my chest, but I managed to knock the camera sideways off the tripod with my elbow. It hit the ground with a crack.

“You do realise we have more than one camera?” Malcolm said.

I flipped the lid of the crate, which stood next to it, up with one hand. Inside was some kind of container, like a massive snow globe, but filled with a swirling blue liquid. It looked… important. And also made me wonder if all the scientists were here for something _other_ than Extremis. “Oh, yeah?” I said. “You got more than one of _these_?”

If I could have moved my good leg without falling over, I would have gone to kick it, but turned out that wasn’t necessary. As soon as I moved towards it, the tension of the room doubled. Half the scientists started aiming their guns at me, the other half pushed them back and away.

Interesting.

“You don’t want to do that,” said Malcolm, his voice strained. From fifteen metres away, I could see the veins in his neck tensing. “You could kill us all.”

I swallowed and kept my pistol pointed at the scientists. My arm was starting to hurt, and my head was seriously pounding. Not to mention the gunshot wound in my leg bursting with icehot pain every few seconds. “So it's a snow globe of death. And how’s that?”

They all looked at each other, the scientists sharing frantic glances. But if this was some crazy, new-age bomb that was just lying around, I had to know. I swung the pistol around to point at the glowing snow globe. “If you don’t tell me what this is and what it does, I’ll shoot it.”

Malcolm let out a strangled noise. “You’ll kill yourself.”

I thumbed the safety until it clicked, despite the fact that it was already off. “Oh, yeah?” I said, forcing my expression to be Natasha-calm. “Good thing I care more about stopping you guys than I do about coming out of this alive.”

“It’s a teleportation device!” one of the scientists shouted. Every other person in the room turned to stare at him. He gestured towards me, eyes pleading at Malcolm, and said something under his breath that I almost didn’t catch. It sounded something like, “She’s batshit crazy. Who knows what she’ll do?”

I smiled. That was exactly what I wanted them thinking. No, I didn’t want to die, but a plan was forming in my head. Take the snow globe hostage, use it as my insurance of getting out of this alive.

“Carry on,” I said, gesturing at the crate.

The scientist looked around, as if someone else would step up. No one did. “It’s a teleportation device,” he repeated. “We harnessed some alien tech from a spaceship that crashed near here two months ago. The others all exploded while we were working on them. They took half my crew with them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, like _killed_ them?”

He shook his head. “We couldn’t find any trace of them in here. Not even—not even DNA. If they were killed, their remains are somewhere else. And we had tracking bracelets on everyone after the first time. If they were teleported… They’re not on earth anymore.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I stared at the snow globe. Right. Alien teleportation device that was highly unstable. That was… a new one. And it sounded pretty dangerous. The perfect choice to ensure no one touched me on my way out. Now I just needed a way to walk.

“You can’t touch it,” Malcolm said. The scientist who had spoken almost tripped in his haste to get backwards, get behind the crowd. “The whole reason it’s still there is because we can’t move them without the risk of blowing up.”

I ignored him, lodging the end of the tripod under my right shoulder and leaning heavily on it. The box was going to be difficult to pick up and to carry. To hold the gun at the same time as using crutches and transporting the box? Almost impossible. Training my eyes on the Mandarin scientists, I readied myself for the pain that would hit when I tried to crouch.

A sound behind me, and I spun. The tripod clattered to the ground and pain ripped through my legs. I hit the ground, the gun clattering away from my hand. Someone was screaming and my throat was roar.

 _I_ was screaming.

And my leg was burning. I gripped it, hot blood gushing through my fingers just above the knee. “What the _fuck_?” I screamed. “Why do you keep shooting me?”

Hands gripped my arms and pulled me up. I thrashed against them, but it did nothing. Within seconds, I was strapped to the bed. I had been so damned close. If not for that _sound_ —it had come out of _nowhere—I_ would have got away. The world was going fuzzy. Pain or blood loss? Same difference. Both stopped me from being able to fucking concentrate.

“Stop it,” I moaned at the hands that were tying me back against the leather cushioning of the bed. “I don’t…” I trailed off. I really wished I had apologised better to Peter. And my mother. I hadn’t been to her grave in years. I wished I had told Pepper that I loved her. I wished that I had been able to see Morgan one more time.

 _Morgan_.

This could happen to Morgan. And if I wasn’t around to protect her… If Morgan’s ghost showed up in heaven or purgatory or wherever we went after death, just because I hadn’t done my job as her big sister… I couldn’t just resign myself to death.

I forced my eyes open. “Malcolm,” I called out, “I’m going to bleed to death if someone doesn’t stop it. You need to… you need to bandage the wound.”

Voices murmured for a few seconds. The world was going in and out of focus, blurring in time with the pain in my thigh. Something cool spread across the wound, and then pressure. I winced and hissed the pain out. _You need this_ , I reminded myself. _You can’t just die here._

“That’s enough.” A sharp voice cut through my dulling pain. “We’ve got to do the video. Besides, once the Extremis is in her, she’ll be healed. Someone replace the camera. And give the girl a painkiller. She needs to be lucid enough to beg her daddy to come and pick her up from playgroup.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled through clenched teeth. So much for my escape attempt. I hadn’t even been close. And now I was going to be injected with Extremis.

 _Just survive this_ , I thought. _Dad can get the Extremis out. You just have to survive_.

Someone stuck a needle in my thigh and I thrashed. “Shut up,” said a young female voice. “It’s the painkiller. Hold still.”

I did. After a few minutes, the pain began to subside. I lifted my head, only to have it slammed back down against the bed. _What the…_ I twisted, leather rubbing against my neck. They were crazy. They really were crazy, psychotic terrorists. Every inch of my body that I could feel was strapped down.

Alright. Fine. Whatever. I could feel myself getting dangerously close to shaking, and I didn’t want to do that. I had to be—I _had_ to be calm for the video. If Dad saw me terrified, then he might just risk following their orders. And there simply could not be two suits in the possession of these madmen. The Mandarin had been bad enough before. But if they were using Extremis _and_ had the suits? _And_ enough money to buy a small country?

No. Just no.

I swallowed and forced the fear down. It was still there, simmering in my stomach, and I pressed my nails into my palms. The biting pain helped me focus. Not that there wasn’t enough pain going around at the moment.

Someone cleared their throat and I opened my eyes. _Oh, shit_. The fear all rushed back to my head making me dizzy. The video camera was back. And there was someone standing behind it, ready to press a button. I turned my head as far as it would go to the right. Two men, both with their faces covered with clown-themed half-masks that left only their mouths and chins showing.

One of them nodded at the camera man. “On my count.” He reached down and vomit rose into my mouth when I saw what he was holding. The syringe. The Extremis virus.

“Three, two, one, _action.”_


	18. Peter

“Anthony Edward Stark,” the leading man said, “We have your daughter.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, and forced myself to breathe slowly through my nose. My legs were finally numb from the painkiller, though I could see the faintest stain of blood reaching the top layer of bandage on the left.

“I’m sure we could draw this out, but where’s the fun in that? I will state our demands clearly. One point five million dollars in cash—we don’t care how you get it—two fully-functioning nanotechnology Iron Man suits.” He nodded towards the wings, his blonde hair flopping around on his head.

At the gesture, a woman in a white coat and surgical mask stepped into the light, visibly shaking, and pushing an IV-pole. Off it hung a clear plastic bag filled with orange-brown liquid. She pushed it to my side and started fiddling with the needle. I forced my eyes shut. “In just a minute, the Extremis virus will start to fill the veins of your daughter. The longer you wait, the more likely it is that she will be dead by the time you get here."

_Calm. For Dad. For Pepper. For Morgan. For Peter. Calm it._

“Is there anything you want to say to your father, Olivia?”

My chest was shaking with every breath I took. Every part of me was shaking and my throat was closing up with fear. But I couldn’t waste this opportunity. I knew that begging my father not to do what they said wouldn’t stop him. Instead I had to show him. Show him that I was okay, that I would rather die than let them get those weapons.

So I forced my eyes open again, and looked to the masked speaker at my right. “My dad already knows what I think of the Mandarin. But there _is_ something I’d like to say to you.”

He smirked, his lips quirking. He thought I was going to go along the traditional, _you-won’t-get-away-with-this, I’ll-always-be-better-than-you_ route. But his blonde hair, parted at the centre, that reached well past his ears, was too good to pass up on. “Go ahead,” he said.

I assumed my best thinking face and stared at him, making sure the camera could see my expression. “Has anyone ever said that you look like Barbie?” I asked.

His nostrils flared in response. Other than that, he just turned back to the camera.

I let my head fall back against the cushion, my aim accomplished. Yes, I would still likely die in a horrible explosion once too much Extremis burnt me up from the inside. But hopefully that little outburst, the bitchy smirk that I let cross my features, would be enough that someone—not Pepper, I didn’t think Pepper would be able to do it, but perhaps Rhodey or Ross or hell, even Steve Rogers—could stop my dad from giving in to what the Mandarin wanted.

If he had even entertained the idea to start with.

Honestly, I was just kinda mad that I hadn’t been able to finish what my mother started and destroy all the Extremis left over.

A cold hand pulled my jaw open and I choked as something dry was stuffed into my mouth. I stuck my tongue into it, trying to force it out of my mouth, but a cold metal plate was pulled over my mouth and chin. “Fuck off,” I tried to say, but all that came out was a mumbled, muffled mess. I was gagged.

 _Kinky_ , was my immediate thought, and I didn’t bother holding back the laughter. Of course, it was barely audible anyway.

But then something touched my arm and I started screaming, shouting at the woman to back off. But I couldn’t move. And she could barely hear me. I just saw a pair of sympathetic, pale blue eyes before something jabbed into my arm.

 _Extremis_.

I went cold all over.

 

####

 

One moment I was shivering, shaking, convinced I was freezing to death. The next I was burning up. _I’m going to die_ , I thought to myself. _They were wrong. I’m not one of the 2.5%. I’m in the 97.5%. I’m going to die._

It could have been ten minutes or an hour since they had first injected me. Every second felt like it was stretching into years, but then I’d wake up, and realise that I hadn’t been semi-lucid.The bag of Extremis was a third empty. If Dad was going to attempt a glorious rescue, he was running out of time. _I_ was running out of time. And I didn’t even know how far up the bag I could get before exploding.

I croaked at the scientists, my voice muffled, for water, and they undid the clasp bring me some, spilling it down my front in the process. Steam hissed off my chest, and I realised that I was still in the ratty, torn flannel shirt and jeans that I had worn to school this morning.

Weird.

And then they redid the gag, I started getting hotter, and I fell back into my shivering, burning dreams.

 

####

 

When I woke a second time, there was something crawling up my arm. It looked like a worm. A grey, cold worm. I shook to get it off me, but then something weird happened. It bent upwards, like it was sitting back, and shook its head at me.

 _I’m hallucinating_ , I thought. Worms don’t have heads. Worms can’t shake their heads.

And then I realised it wasn’t a worm.

It was a nano-chip. It was a lifeline.

I let my head fall back on the bed and moaned something incoherent. It was getting harder to breathe, especially with the gag in my mouth. I had to force myself to take slow, deep breaths through the nose.

The cold of metal spread up my cheek, and the nano-chip pressed into my ear. A comm, I realised. It was a comm.

“Hey, Liv,” said Peter’s voice. I squeezed my eyes shut. _No tears. No tears_. _They can’t notice something’s wrong._

Or, for once, that something was very, very right.

“I don’t think you can reply to me because of that—that gag, and I can’t see you now that I’ve lost the camera,” he said. “But you can hear me. Or at least Friday says you can.”

I swallowed. _Yes, I can hear you. I can hear you, Peter. Thank you, Peter. I was wrong. I need you, Peter._

“Your Dad’s here,” he said, “and he wishes he could be the one talking to you, but he’s directing Captain Rogers and Mr Barnes on his own comms. They’re coming to get you, Liv. You just need to help us a bit.”

_Anything. Just don’t give them what they want. And don’t get hurt._

“We’ve figured out that you’re underground. Second floor below the surface. Captain Rogers and Mr Barnes are on the first floor below. They’re coming, Liv. They’ll be with you in just a minute. I’m sorry that I can’t be with you, but—well—Mr Stark said he didn’t want me going in there. Too dangerous, you know.”

_He’s right. You’re a dumbass. You’d probably get us both killed by trying to save some bug’s life, or something._

“Okay, Mr Barnes is coming. He’s closest. In three, two, one—”

There was a crash that even I heard. My instinct was to flinch backwards, to get out of the way of the blast, but I couldn’t move. A rattling thunder rolled across the room. A scientist in my peripheral vision fell to the floor with a cry, a steam of red created in his wake. _Bullets_ , I realised, somewhat sluggishly.

And then my eye caught the crate, upon which someone had replaced the lid. _He’ll blow us all up._

I started shouting, my words distorted by the gag and the metal.

 _“It’s okay, Liv,”_ Peter was saying in my ear. His voice was panicked, like he thought I was going crazy. Maybe I was. Maybe the Extremis had finally reached my brain. I didn’t even know what he could hear.

The gunfire stopped, and a black-and-silver figure appeared in front of me. There was something cold against my cheek, and then a _pop_ and I could breathe again. I spat out the gag, coughing. “Barnes,” I panted as he yanked apart the ropes and clasps at my wrists, shoulders, waist, thighs, ankles, “Barnes, there’s—”

And then a door at the far end of the room crashed open, and guns were pointing in our direction. I yanked the needle out of my arm and rolled, crying out as I crashed to the floor. My mouth was dry, every part of me aching and burning. I crawled behind the medical chair and Bucky hunched over me on the other side. I was stuck in the cave of his body, between the chair and his chest. Every few seconds, he poked his head out from behind the seat and let off a rattling burst of gunfire.

“Not the crate, Bucky,” I hissed, my voice raw and gasping. “Don’t hit the crate. There’s a… There’s a bomb.”

“Shit,” and the message relayed through his comms was the only confirmation I got. Another few rounds of gunfire, some well-aimed cries of pain, then a figure in black and blue appeared from the door. Steve jumped and flung his shield. It flew through the air in a perfect arc, blurring before my eyes. There was a sick _thud_ , and some answering crashes, and Barnes hissed, “ _Stay down_. Wait for us to come and get you.”

And then he was gone. I peered through the cracks in the chair’s base to see Barnes and Rogers, coordinating like soulmates as they barrelled through the group of mercenaries.

“Peter,” I whispered.

“Liv?” he said, voice strained and hopeful at the same time.

“There’s a bomb in here. You need… You and my dad need to get away.”

There was silence for a second, and then: “No, we’re not going anywhere. And neither is Miss Potts.”

I let out a strangled yelp. “ _Pepper’s there?”_

I didn’t hear the reply, because right at that second four soldiers in the same black Tac gear as at school entered through the doors. They looked right at me and their guns were up. Two of them peeled off, one to guard each door.

 _Shit. Shit, shit, shit_. And I was weak as a puppy. No gun, no weapon, except—

I pushed myself upwards on the chair. I could _see_ my hands shaking, but I managed to yank the Extremis off the clip and brandished it in front of me. “If you get close to me, I’ll stab you,” I said, my voice still hoarse. “I swear I will.”

They kept going. Stuck to the chair, practically unable to move, I couldn’t exactly be an intimidating target. But I was serious, and they could tell. There was a new reticence to their movements. So they couldn’t shoot me. Fine. That meant they had to get close. And _nobody_ wanted Extremis in their veins, no matter how little.

They were only a few metres away now. I twisted myself, so I was sitting perched on the seat, my arm outstretched with the needle. One metre away, and I lunged. An hand grabbed my wrist and that was all it took.

The pouch and needle fell to the floor.

Something inside me broke a little as the bag split on the cement. My last chance. I could still hear Bucky’s gun shots, at least rooms away. They weren’t coming back for me. Not in the next few minutes.

“Please,” I said, my voice cracking. “I don’t want to… I don’t want to die.”

One’s grip was softer than the other as the pulled me to my feet and I let out a heaped breath. There it was, then. I would be taken somewhere else. I would be gone. As good as dead.

“Peter?” I whispered. One of the soldiers gave me an odd look, but they did nothing. Probably thought I was hallucinating by now. Was I? Had I imagined the whole rescue attempt?

There was no reply. Peter’s soft, nerdy, 16-year-old-boy voice was gone.

If it wasn’t for the cold in my ear, I would have thought I really had imagined it.

But then Peter _did_ say something, and I straightened just a little, because at least I wouldn’t be dying alone. Through my earpiece, Peter would be with me.

“Hey, suckers,” he said. Was he talking to me? Weird, but there was no one else on our comms line. “I don’t think she really wants to go with you.”

The guards turned. Could they hear him, too? Something white ripped their guns out of their hands, and I slumped to the floor without their support.

Peter. Spider-man. He came for me.

The cold of the cement pressed against my cheek. It was nice. I was getting kinda hot. Probably the Extremis. Probably not good. Thumps and shouts sounded in the background and I realised that I probably should be moving out of the way. I lifted my head. In front of me was the crate. The teleport. The bomb.

I crawled, my fingernails scraping and breaking as I dug them into the cement and pulled myself forward. The wood of the box brushed against my fingers, and I forced myself up onto my forearms. The snow globe was still there, glowing blue. But now, there were cracks in the glass. Something in my mind whined and hissed. As I watched, the crack grew.

I looked back. Peter was standing in the middle of a ring of four bodies. All the ones from this room, then.

“Peter,” I said, the buzzing in my head growing louder. There was something wrong. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

He took a step towards me. “Liv, I—”

And then there was a louder crack.

I looked down. The glowing blue energy was seeping out of the globe, and I realised that the whining was coming from that.

 _It’s going to explode_.

I glanced back at Peter again. My friend. Who had saved me. And now I was going to save him.

I let my body fall, creating a cage around the teleport just as the whining reached its maximum.


	19. A Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> issa kind of short chapter but Imma get another one or two up today hopefully

 

 

 

 

 

_Protect Peter._

 

_Protect Peter._

 

 

_Protect Peter._

 

 

 

_Peter._

 

 

 

 

 

_Peter._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Peter._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_####_

 

 

May swung the door open, entered, set down a tray of sandwiches and orange juice on the bedside table, touched Peter on the shoulder, and left, all without anyone in the room saying a word.

Peter was sitting in the chair beside Liv’s bed, his elbows digging into his knees, his head in his hands. Mr Stark was leaning against the wall behind Peter, facing away from his daughter. Pepper was on the other side, the tears having finally stopped. Every few minutes her hand would twitch towards Liv’s, which lay motionless on the white cover, but they never touched. Because, despite Liv’s normal, sleeping appearance, and despite the normal, sleeping noises that came out of her very few minutes, there was quite clearly something wrong with her.

She was glowing. Blue.

It was like when you turned a flashlight on and blocked the light with your hand. If the distance was small enough, the light pushed _through_ the hand, and you glowed orange. Only, in this case, it was Liv’s whole body. And, in this case, it wasn’t a flashlight. No one could figure out what it was.

Mr Stark pushed off the wall in one sharp motion and strode past the bed to Pepper’s side. “Tell me again what you saw, Kid,” he said.

Peter swallowed. He had already said it at least three times. “Liv said that there was a bomb in the room. A bit later, I heard Liv screaming over the comms. I went down into the bunker to help, I fought the men who were trying to take Liv away. When I was done, I looked around and saw her lying next to the crate. She just said my name, and then there was a cracking noise, and she hugged the crate. There was another cracking noise, louder that time, and this surge of blue light, and then Liv disappeared. I ran towards where she had been and looked at the remains of the crate and glass, and then Liv reappeared right next to me, unconscious. I brought her back up, and then—yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Stark, I should have—”

“Shut it, Kid. You aren’t responsible for this. This isn’t your fault, and if you even _think_ about apologising one more time, I _will_ put you on Morgan-duty for three days straight.”

Peter swallowed again. “Yes, Mr Stark.”

There was another bout of silence, and then Mr Stark took a sharp step forward, picked up a sandwich, and threw it at Peter. “Eat, Kid,” he said. “Can’t have you ending up in a hospital bed, too.”

Peter took it grudgingly. “Only if you and Mrs Potts do, too.”

Mrs Potts finally stirred, and offered Peter a weak smile. “Peter, how many times do I have to say, call me Pepper,” she said, but reached for a sandwich from the plate.

A knock on the door, and Peter turned. Steve Rogers appeared, edging into the room and letting the door fall shut behind him. “We got the whole thing cleaned up,” he said, voice soft. “A few ran, but the rest are in custody.” His gaze turned from Tony to Olivia. “How’s she doing?”

Mr Stark took a step forward and his fingers trailed across the sheets at the foot of the bed. “Umm… Mild acid burns on both hands. Multiple cuts on arms and chest from the bomb. Concussion and mild brain trauma. Bruises and scrapes all over her body. Gunshot wounds to both thighs, fractured the bone in the left. Plus…” He sighed, massaging his temples. “Small amounts of Extremis in her body. Not enough to heal her, evidently, but enough to create rapid spikes and drops in temperature.”

Steve nodded slowly. It made Peter feel sick. The amount of crap she’d been through… And it had only been a few hours. The attack on the school began at one. It was now five. Still light outside. And in that time, Olivia had been through hell and back.

“Oh, yeah, and there’s also the fact that she’s glowing blue, and apparently disappeared back in the bunker.”

Steve nodded again, his eyes still on Olivia.

“But she… We can’t touch her. Unusual radiation presents unusual problems, and all. But the bots got the bullets out and stitched her up, and we’ve started the Extremis reversal treatment, and… as far as we can tell, she’s gonna be okay.”

Mr Stark, with all his faltering and choked-up words, didn’t mention the fact that they hadn’t seen any effects of the radiation on the scans. That, as far as anyone could tell, the full extent of the ‘bomb’ had been the glowing and the few cuts from the glass. Other than that, nothing. It was too good to be true. Peter was waiting for the opposite to be true. It would be right around in-line with the rest of the day’s events.

Mr Stark’s hand hovered over Olivia’s shoulder for a second. It trembled, and Peter’s heart clenched. This was the most broken up that Peter had ever seen him. Had he been like this after Peter had died?

 _Of course not_ , was his immediate thought. _Olivia’s his daughter. And besides, she’s not going to die. She’s going to be fine._

And then he remembered how Mr Stark had spoken earlier. _One of my kids._ As if Peter was another one of his kids. And here he was, in the hospital room with Olivia’s parents. Even Morgan wasn’t here. She was with May and Happy.

“I’ll be outside,” Steve said after a second. Peter had almost forgotten he was there. “I don’t think… I don’t think Olivia would want me in here.”

Mr Stark reached out, shook his hand. Peter looked away. It felt like a private moment. It didn’t stop him from hearing Mr Stark’s words. “Thank you, Steve. And… and Bucky, as well.”

“Anytime, Tony."

“Feel free to hang around, but I can’t say any of us are going to be leaving this room before she’s awake.”

He thanked Tony, and then there was the squeaking of the door, and then silence.

It was going to be a long night.


	20. Glowing

I yawned and stretched my arms up over my head, my eyes fluttering open. Peter was sitting beside me, his head slumped against his shoulder. Behind him, Dad, turned away from me. His face was lit up by the moonlight that streamed through the window. His eyes were dark, distant.

“Dad?” I whispered, not wanting to wake up Peter.

He turned, and his eyes were questioning, still far away. “Olivia?”

“Yeah,” I said, and rolled my neck. “Are we at Peter’s apartment?”

He took a step towards me, away from the window. “No, kiddo. We’re in the medical wing of the Tower.”

Odd. I had thought I'd been in Peter's apartment. In his bedroom, with the idiotic Star Wars posters everywhere. I hadn't been there since before the anti-snap.

He took another step, kneeled beside the bed in front of Peter’s chair. “How are you feeling?”

I yawned again, and thought about the question. “Kind of numb,” I said after a second. I could barely feel my body, and the brush of cotton sheets against my skin almost felt like it was happening to someone else. I almost asked why he had wanted to know, and then the word _hospital_ hit me, and my brain processed the many monitors, cables, and needles around me.

_Extremis._

I yanked the needle out of my arm and pushed myself away from the monitor, my fingernails scrabbling against the sheets. _I’m going to die. Extremis. I’m already fucking glowing._ I tumbled off the medical bed, pulling a sheet with me, and pain shot through me when my back hit the cold, grey, cement floor. _I’m going to—_

“Liv!”

My back hit the wall and I looked up, searching for a weapon, anything I could use against—

“Olivia, it’s Pepper. It’s Pepper, Olivia. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

I blinked, and forced myself to focus. Pepper. It was Pepper’s voice. I knew that voice. That was the voice that had coaxed me through my crying fits after my mom died. That was the voice that had shouted at the school principal when he refused to do anything about the grade three bullying. That was the voice that had read me to sleep, even when Daddy was busy working in the garage or fighting robots.

One hand gripped my shoulder, the other my chin, and forced me to look at her.

“You’re okay, Olivia. You’re free. You’re home now. We’re in the hospital wing. It’s okay. Peter saved you.”

My heart was racing too fast. I could feel it hammering away in my chest. I forced myself to look at Pepper. Her eyes were rimmed with red and sleep, and smudged mascara surrounded them. Her lips were parted and she was panting slightly.

“Pepper,” I said, and she nodded. “Oh, my god.” And then something warm trailed down my cheek, and I let out a retching, racking sob, and I was crying, my cheek pressed into Pepper’s shoulder and her fingers carding through my hair. I was shaking, and I had been shaking in the same way when the Extremis was running through me, and that just made me cry harder because _Am I going to die?_

“You’re okay. You’re free. You’re okay. You’re free,” she just repeated over and over again.

At some point, I stopped crying, and then I was just shaking. At some point, that stilled too, and I lifted my head from Pepper’s shoulder with aching, stiff neck, and looked around. Peter was standing, staring, from the other side of the bed. Dad was watching, frozen, just behind Pepper. His expression was all kinds of hurt, guilt, pain.

I let my head rest against the wall behind me and pulled the bedsheet closer. “Why am I naked?” I asked, and the room softened. Peter blushed and looked away, despite the fact that the bedsheet covered everything.

“We had to take your clothes off for the surgery and treatments, but the bots find it a lot harder to dress you than to undress you.”

“Why couldn’t _you_ just…”

There was a tension in the air.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You were glowing,” offered Peter, still not looking at me directly. “You’re not now.”

I looked down at myself. I was, indeed, not glowing. “What do you mean, glowing?” I said.

“After you fell on the energy thing, you disappeared for a bit. And then you were glowing. Blue. Like, radiation. Dr Banner didn’t think it was safe to touch you.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage. He had said fall. As if I hadn’t meant to do it. As if I hadn’t meant to protect him. The energy thing. He must mean the teleporter. And when it exploded, I must have been teleported somewhere. “How did you find me?” I asked. The scientist had said that every other time, they hadn’t been able to get to the missing people. But Tony and Pepper (now kneeling next to me) and Peter’s faces were blank. Confused. “When I disappeared?” I clarified. “How did you find where I was?”

Peter and Dad shared a look. “We didn’t,” Tony said after a second. “You just reappeared.”

“Oh,” I said again. “Can I go back to bed?” I asked.

Pepper and Tony each took an arm and half-lifted me back towards the bed, while I kept the sheet clutched to my body. The mattress sunk underneath me. A normal mattress, a normal bed, not one of the electric, strap-ridden things that had been inside the cavern.

As soon as I was on it, sitting with my back against the pillow against the wall, Pepper produced a stack of clothes and set them on the bed. I pulled on the oversized Harvard Business School t-shirt, and forewent the selection of sweatpants. My legs were… better, but I hadn’t forgotten the bullets, and I didn’t think movement—or _more_ movement, anyway, given my little hallucination-rampage there—would be very good.

Once the t-shirt was over my head, I sat back. So. I had been teleported somewhere. And then I had come back. But why? How? None of the scientists had. Though, I supposed, here I was, taking the Mandarin’s word as gospel. Probably not the easiest route to the truth.

My head was starting to hurt, so I looked around at the room. It was small-ish, with a door opposite the bed, and a window in the wall to my right. Pepper had settled back in the chair on the left, and Peter was on the other side. Tony was hovering next to the plethora of machines hooked up to my right, and he was fiddling with something in his hands. A needle. The needle I had yanked out of myself, thinking it was the Extremis.

I looked up at him. “What’s that?”

“The anti-Extremis treatment. It un-writes the genetic modification. You got about ten minutes left, max.”

I silently offered out my arm and looked away as Pepper slid it in. Just a tiny pinch, and none of the burning, sweating, shivering side effects that had hit as soon as the Extremis entered me.

I almost jumped when FRIDAY announced, “Doctor Banner says he will be with you in two minutes.”

“Uncle Bruce?” I asked, not looking at anyone in particular.

“For the radiation, and the… glowing-ness,” Tony said, and settled himself leaning back against the wall.

“Oh,” I said. “But… Pepper touched me.” I looked at her. “Pepper, you weren’t supposed to touch me. We don’t know what the effects will be!”

She reached out and brushed a hand through my hair. “We’ll figure it out, baby. This is all gonna be okay.”

I found myself leaning into her touch. Now that I was out of danger and at least partially safe, I could tell I was starting to slump. My energy was waning. Images were being brought back to my mind, of guns and needles and video cameras that filmed me, tied to a table. All the fear and pain that I had pushed down before was coming back. And what I really wanted was to be held by my dad. But he was still standing in the corner, studying me as if I were a science experiment. Not his daughter. What we had would never be what he and Morgan had. They’d been together since her birth, whilst I had turned up on his doorstep. But he was still my dad. I barely remembered life before him.

The door swung open and Bruce appeared, a Stark tablet in his hand. “Good evening, Olivia,” he said. “Good to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly? Pretty normal,” I replied. “I mean, other than being banged up and a bit light-headed. And I’ve been shot. Twice. I’m assuming you’ve got me on pain meds because I’m actually feeling surprisingly okay.”

He nodded, pulling documents of complicated sets of numbers and codes up onto the screen by my bed. “That’s good to hear, and yes, you’ve had pretty much the maximum dose of pain meds. Any feverishness, or headaches? Vomiting?”

I shook my head. “When I was—when the Extremis was going into me, I was switching between burning up and freezing. No vomiting at all. I’ve got a bit of a headache, but nothing unusual.”

He tapped some things on the screen. Peter and Tony were both peering over his shoulder and the scientific jargon, though I doubted either of them could understand the medical-specific jargon. “And, uh, can you tell us anything about the… bomb?”

The four of them all turned to look at me as if I was about to have a break down. I wasn’t. I’d already had my allotted breakdown for the day. “Yeah,” I said, turning my mind back to the what the scientist had said. “It wasn’t really a bomb. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. They took tech from an alien ship that crashed near that bunker, probably from when Thanos turned up, and they were trying to make teleports. Except, the tech was really unstable and they kept exploding, and when they exploded anyone standing near disappeared. They couldn’t find any… remains, or anything. That was the last one.”

There was a tapping noise, before Bruce said, “Can you remember anything else?”

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the scene. The crate behind me. A gray, cement room in front of me. That medical bed. The scientists, all with their guns. The door, behind them, and another behind me. The camera. What had he said?

I opened my eyes.

Bruce and the others had disappeared. The bed, the window—it was all gone. Even the bedsheets that had been on me. And instead, I was sitting on the floor in the bunker, in only my Harvard t-shirt.

I was hallucinating. I shook my head, squeezed my eyes shut, forced them open again. And I was still in the bunker.

_I’m going_ crazy, I thought. _I’m actually crazy_.

And when I pulled myself to my feet and lifted a hand to touch the camera that stood in front of me— _It can’t possibly be real. I’m not really here—_ my skin was glowing clearly and violently blue.

 

 

####

 

“Oh, my god,” I said. “Oh, my fucking god.”

Had I just _teleported?_ No. I was hallucinating. I was crazy. I would close my eyes, and when I opened them again, I would be in the hospital room, with the one wide window that let in the moonlight, and Bruce and Tony and Pepper.

I opened my eyes, and—

There.

I was in the hospital again, sitting on the bed, with the bedsheet over my knees. And Pepper was staring at me. Peter was stuck to the ceiling. Tony was halfway out the door, and Bruce was furiously scrolling through my vitals.

“ _Olivia_!” Pepper screamed. “ _What the hell was that?”_

Tony turned, and the door swung into him on its way back.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait wait wait,” I said, kneeling up. “What just happened?”

They all stared at me for a moment. Had I passed out while I was hallucinating? Had I said something weird, done something wrong? They were all looking at me like I had a moustache drawn on my face. I looked down at myself and swore out loud. Beneath my skin, swirls of glowing blue sparks swam like the aurora borealis.

“Olivia,” Pepper said, her voice shaking. “You just disappeared."


	21. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bit of angst, bit of fluff. more fluff to come. But I've been reading/writing all day and need a change of pace so I think Imma watch a movie now (To All The Boys I've Loved Before, anyone??) and write another chapter later. Enjoy!

“The quantity of radiation is the same as seven hours ago, but the type…,” Bruce trailed off. Tony looked up at him, and I followed his gaze. The edge of the scanner blocked my view of the screen. “The type has morphed since then. It’s settled down, found an equilibrium.”

He tapped a few times, but said nothing. “ _And?”_ Tony prompted.

“Hawking radiation,” Bruce said after a second.

As in, the only thing ever to pass out of a black hole. Still pretty much theoretical. Hilariously under-documented, under-studied, and misunderstood.

“Well,” said Tony and leaned back in his chair. He seemed stunned. “You don’t hear that every day.”

I pushed myself upward and slid off the bed. Pepper had helped me into some pyjama pants, and thanks to Doctor Cho’s miraculous magic cradle, my thighs were pretty much healed. Still a bit sore, and I’d have scarring on at least the right thigh, given the length of time the wound had been left and everything I’d done with it hurt, but that was fine. In fact, not that I’d admit it, it was pretty cool. I’d always wanted battle scars, and two nearly-matching bullet holes in my legs did perfectly.

But back to the matter at hand.

“So you think it’s this Hawking radiation that’s allowing me to teleport?” I said.

Bruce gave me a look that said, _I really have no idea_. Alright. Fair enough. It wasn’t like _any_ of us had any ideas, and the scientists that had been rounded up and put into custody had already admitted they knew next to nothing.

“Is it dangerous?” Tony asked, his elbows pressing into his knees. He had been so tense this entire time.

“Not that I can see,” Bruce replied. “Look, Tony, this is new ground. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Now, I can’t explain what happened to the other scientists that disappeared, if that really happened, but other than the—teleportation issue, there’s nothing wrong with Olivia.”

“That you can find,” Tony added.

“Gee,” I said. “Thanks, Dad. Really making me feel better about this one.”

He didn’t even look at me.

“I’ve got a sample of her cells, Tony. I’ll make a few calls, do a couple tests, and get back to you as soon as I can. For now, just go normally. Except, don’t teleport to anywhere dangerous, but I think that one was already kind of obvious.”

I nodded. Bruce hesitated for a second before leaving the room. He was so damn kind. How _he_ had ended up with the Hulk, I didn’t know, but the world sure was lucky that it was him.

My blue glow was fading, and I was starting to think it only stuck around for a little while after teleporting. If teleporting was what I had done. I had taken off my hoodie for the scans, but at 4 AM, the room was pretty chilly, so I slid it back on. The buzz of the zip was the only sound in the room.

Tony was still sitting in the chair, his eyes focussed on what I could guess was some distant calculation or theory. Still ignoring me, clearly. Some part of me knew that wasn’t fair. He had been the one to organise my rescue. He was the one who had barely slept in 36 hours. He was the one who had had his daughter kidnapped, probably bringing back all sorts of memories that he didn’t want to think about. And now he was trying to figure out a solution for my little problem, and I was getting annoyed for him not being chatty enough? But then another part of me said, _yeah, but_ I _was the one kidnapped. I want a hug. I want to cry while my dad is holding me. I want to hear how_ he _got past it, all those years ago_.

All I could do was extend an olive branch.

“You good, Dad?” I asked, fiddling with my zip.

For once, he actually looked me straight in the eye. “Am _I_ good?” He scoffed. “Are _you_ good?”

That had, and hadn’t been the answer I was hoping for. Because, while the words were there, the tone was angry, challenging.

“Yeah, fine,” I said, turning towards the door. Fine, if he was going to act like this, then so would I. I didn’t want to tell him how I was feeling if he was going to act like this. He was supposed to be the adult in this relationship.

“Seriously, Olivia? You’re fine? Because you don’t _sound_ fine. God, you could at least tell me the truth.”

I took a breath. “Yeah, and _you_ could at least be a bit _nicer,_ considering everything that happened!” I had never spoken to him this directly before. In the past, whenever something was wrong, I dodged questions, made excuses to get out of the room, or at the very most I offered my complaint as if it was tiny, unimportant. Not this time.

“What do you _want_ me to do?” he asked, his tone exasperated, frustrated. “Buy you a house, or—”

“How about asking me how I’m feeling?”

“I just did!”

“Not genuinely! If you’d really wanted to know, you wouldn’t have said it in such a—a—”

“What, such a stressed way? Newsflash, I _am_ stressed.”

“Yeah, well so am I! I mean, hell, I have some kind of freaky teleportation juice running through my veins, no one except Pepper will touch me, and that’s not even thinking about the fact that someone attacked my school, almost killed my entire year group, and then kidnapped me!”

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to play the hero, and had actually _listened_ to me when I told you to _lay low_ , then we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we.” He was standing now, and I was facing him again instead of the door. So _this_ was what he really thought. That I was stupid, naive, weak, perhaps. “You were outside the cafeteria, you could have escaped. You knew where the police were. Why didn’t you just get the hell out of the school and let the professionals deal with it?”

“I _saved_ people. I didn’t _play_ the hero; I _was_ the hero. All the kids in that cafeteria would be _dead_ if not for me.” I was trying very, very hard not to let my voice shake. Every other part of me was shaking because it was possible—just possible—that my legs weren’t completely healed, and even if they were, every part of me was bruised and battered and I probably should be in bed.

Tony didn’t notice. He just barrelled right on through. “I don’t care about kids in a cafeteria. They’re not _my_ kids! No, _my_ kid was too busy running around trying to fight armed killers to realise that there are people who _do_ this sort of thing.”

“What, the Avengers? Because I didn’t see any of them there.” I was holding onto the door handle for support now. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I thought you all were on a bit of a break at the moment, given one of you is _dead_ and the others all seem to be on holiday in various places. You seem to be forgetting the fact that _I_ managed to _best_ the armed killers, and if it wasn’t for those fake police officers, everything would have been fine.”

“Olivia, you were almost _killed_.”

“I saved lives, Dad!”

“I don’t care about _lives._ I care about _your_ life. And _you_ were reckless and stupid.”

“So what? Why do you care?”

“You’re my daughter, for god’s sake.”

“Am I? Am I, though? Because I remember, a few months after coming to you, hearing an argument between you and Pepper where you said, ‘I never wanted a kid, Pepper, and I still don’t.’ And that’s fine, Tony. I got used to it. I don’t need you. But if you aren’t my dad, then stop complaining like it.”

I pulled open the door and left the room, pressing my hand against the wall to stop myself from falling over.

Tony said nothing. Or at least, nothing that I could hear.

Too bad neither of us were going to take back the things we said.

I made it halfway down the hall before the elevator—at the other end—dinged, and Peter stepped out. Well, crap. He was going to ask what was wrong. His eyes were on the floor for now, with something clutched in his hands.

I forced myself to push off from the wall and walk in as straight a line as possible towards the elevator. Right now, I just wanted to get back to my own bed—not the one in the hospital room—and go to sleep. I wanted to forget about the shouting match Tony and I had just had, and sleep for at least 36 hours.

Peter glanced up and did a double-take. “Olivia,” he said, and relief was evident in his voice. “I was just coming to find you. Pepper made you pasta, ‘cause apparently you’re allowed solid food now. Done with the med check already?”

I smiled at him forcibly. “Yeah, it was quick, though I think it was less a med check and more an is-she-going-to-blow-up check. For the record, I’m not. What’s got you so happy?”

His cheeks tinged pink as if he was embarrassed. “Well,” he said, coming to a stop next to me. I turned to face him and leaned back against the wall, trying to make it look like I was just being casual. “I thought I was going to have to be in the same room as Doctor Banner, but you’re out here, so I won’t.”

I accepted the warm Tupperware box when he handed it to me. Pasta at four in the morning. Nothing wrong with that. Honestly, I would’ve eaten anything. “Oh? What’s wrong with Doctor Banner?”

“Oh, nothing! It’s just that, well, he’s sort of a personal hero, and I thought I was gonna say something stupid in front of him which would have been, well, stupid, and—”

“You, say something stupid? Never!” I joked, trying to stop myself from wincing at the pain in my thighs. Peter grinned with me and glanced down, embarrassed. His brown curls were falling in front of his eyes and he brushed them back with one hand. “Anyway,” I said, “He left the room like, five minutes ago, so you would have been safe.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” he said, glancing down the corridor. “Pepper said I had to try and get Mr Stark to go to bed now, so I’m just going to go pass on the message.” He disappeared down the corridor and I sighed. Tony was going to tell him that we’d argued, and then next time Peter saw me he’d have that disapproving look on.

I put my hand back to the wall and pushed myself onward until I was only a few metres from the elevator. There was the sound of a door swinging shut and Peter reappeared at the other end of the corridor. “Liv?” he said, and I grimaced. I could tell just from his voice that Tony had told him we’d fought.

I reached forward to press the button, and it dinged again, the doors opening. FRIDAY’s mechanical voice filled the elevator. “Miss Hansen, your blood sugar levels are alarmingly low, and I can see from—”

“I’m fine, FRIDAY,” I grumbled. “Just shut up and get me upstairs.”

I pushed myself forward and swayed, clutching at the wall of the elevator for support. My thighs were hurting again, and more than anything, I just wanted to sleep. The world was starting to swim around me.

“Liv?” Peter said again, this time with alarm filling his voice. He started running down the corridor.

“I’m fine,” I tried to repeat, but my mouth wouldn’t work.

My knees gave out underneath me and I collapsed, hitting the floor with a metallic thud.

Almost before I knew it, Peter’s arms were turning me. Now, instead of being spread across the floor like a spilled milkshake, I was in a sitting position, my legs stretched out in front of me, with Peter kneeling beside me, supporting my back and brushing my hair out of my eyes. He was talking, chattering, really, without taking breaths between words. “Ohmygod Livvy are you okay? That was a stupid question of course you’re not okay but you’re gonna be okay FRIDAY what’s wrong with her—”

He stopped just long enough for me to hear the AI’s answer. “Scans show low blood sugar levels and exhaustion, as well as muscle strain. It’s nothing serious, Mr Parker, but Miss Hansen’s two main requirements at this stage are nourishment and sleep.”

_Sounds about right_ , I thought, my mind drifting. Nothing particularly hurt. I was just aching everywhere, and feeling hollow inside. I _really_ wanted to sleep…

The elevator dinged and Peter slid his arm under my legs, slinging my arm around his neck.

“No,” I said, my mouth numb. “I’m too heavy,” I said, but he lifted me anyway. “Peter…”

“Don’t be stupid, Livvy,” he replied, and the bright light of the elevator softened into semi-darkness. He’d never used that nickname before. No one ever had. I liked it. “I’m Spider-Man. Besides, who do you think carried you after you passed out in the bunker?”

That had been him? I should thank him.

“You’re really warm,” I said instead, and pressed myself towards him.

He snorted. “Thanks, I think?”

“Don’t… don’t laugh at me,” I replied. Something soft pressed into me and I realised that we were in my bedroom. Peter was setting me down on the bed, pulling the covers over me.

“You should eat something,” he said and I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, eat something…,” I muttered. The sheets were cold. I pulled my legs up towards my body.

There was a clicking sound and the smell of tomato pasta filled the air. “You have to eat something, Livvy,” Peter said. He must have carried the Tupperware of pasta up, even with me practically passed out on the floor.

I blinked my eyes open. He was holding the fork in front of my mouth, two pieces of pasta speared on the end of it. I opened my mouth and he fed me, like I was a kid again. I chewed, swallowed, and Peter gave me more. He was kneeling by the side of the bed, the pot of pasta in one hand and the fork in the other. His hair was messy, and he must have been almost as tired as I was, but he wasn’t the complaining type. By the time half the pot was gone, I was feeling a little better.

“That should be enough for now, Mr Parker,” FRIDAY said from somewhere in the ceiling.

Peter put the Tupperware on my bedside table and pulled the covers up over my shoulders. “Sleep now, Livvy,” he said, and flicked the light off.

As he got up to leave, and in a faster movement than I thought I would manage, I grabbed his hand. “Peter, stay?” I said. “Please?”

He was silent for a second before pulling up the duvet on the other side of the bed and climbing in. He was still holding my hand, but that was our only contact. I rolled over and placed my head on his shoulder, my arm across his stomach. I was vaguely aware that if I wasn’t in the state I was, I never would have done that. I was also vaguely aware that I didn’t care. Peter was warm. I was cold. Peter was the one I would always be able to rely on. Peter was safe.

As I drifted off to sleep, Peter’s arm curled around my shoulders and his hand came to rest on my waist. “Always.”


	22. Actually a crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's a long one. No, I shouldn't be up at 1 am writing. No, I don't care that I'll be tired tomorrow. Yes, this is just pure fluff.  
> Also, I'm so sorry I haven't replied to comments! Thank you, they mean the world to me, but I thought the time was better spent writing more fluff for you. Do please continue to comment/kudos/bookmark cause it means the world to me.  
> Also, funny coincidence, Tom Holland apparently has a girlfriend called Olivia. Weird. I can predict the future, clearly.  
> Okay, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

The back of my head was warm from the sunlight. I turned, rested my cheek on the pillow, let the orange light play over my eyelids. I felt well-rested. Satisfied. The kind of warmth and fulfilment I only usually got from laughing with Morgan until we cried, or sitting by the lake in the summer sun and feeling the contrast of the cold water and the hot sun on my skin.

I let my eyelids flutter open. The feeling was coming back to my body and I stirred, turning from my front to my back, and—

There was a person in my bed.

There was a _Peter_ in my bed. His hand fell from where it had rested on my back as I turned. And my feet were tangled up with his. My shoulder brushed against his side.

The elevator. Collapsing. The pasta. Oh my god. I had asked him to stay. He had been in here the _whole night?_ Or—I checked my watch, which lay on the bedside table. The glass was cracked. I hadn’t even noticed it happen—at least he had been in here for eight hours. It was just hitting noon.

I slid out of bed, pushing the duvet and sheets back into place. Sunlight was streaming in from the wall of windows. The city was going about its daily business down below. I could see cars, people—everything usual.

I glanced back at Peter, still sleeping. At some point in the night, he had moved onto his side. He was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt of the day before, but his shoes and socks had been kicked off on the other side of the bed. His face was peaceful, his hair ruffled up.

Well, shit.

This kinda changed things.

Or maybe it changed nothing at all. Maybe it was normal for people to sleep in the same bed as their friend who wasn’t even their best friend just kinda someone they knew who they hadn’t always been the nicest to but with whom you had a habit of saving each others’ lives.

I ran a hand through my hair. My fingers snagged as much as humanly possible, and I realised that I _really_ needed to brush my hair, get dressed, wash my face, and have some breakfast.

I crept into the bathroom with a pile of clothes and got ready for the day, refusing to think about anything that wasn’t in the moment. Once I was half-presentable, I started thinking about breakfast, and that made it a bit harder. Because Tony was probably out there. And given what he had said and what I had said the night before, while I still thought that everything I’d said was _true,_ I didn’t really want to face him. I could always wake Peter up or text Pepper and get _them_ to bring me breakfast, but I was at least 98.6% sure that either or both of them would try and get me to talk to Tony.

Which left only one other option:

Teleporting.

 _It’s ridiculous_ , was my immediate thought. _You can’t teleport_.

But then, _If I can’t teleport, why do I keep disappearing?_

And then, _If I_ can _teleport, why didn’t I just teleport up to my room last night instead of making Peter carry me?_

Well. That was… annoyingly true. But then, I supposed, last night I had been overtired, underfed, and ridiculously unstable. I could probably be given a pass for not having thought of it.

Alright, then. So. How did one go about teleportation? The previous two times I’d done it—or _four_ times, if a round trip counted as two—had been accidents, and the first one I barely remembered. But the second, I had been sat in the hospital bed, imagining the surroundings of the bunker. And then I’d opened my eyes and I _had_ been in the bunker. And then, when I had concentrated really hard on the image of the hospital room, I had been back in the hospital room.

And.

When it had happened the first time—when the thingy exploded in the bunker—what had I been thinking of then? _Peter_ , I realised. I’d been thinking I needed to protect Peter. And then, when I woke up, I’d immediately asked whether we were in Peter’s flat. When the answer had been no, I’d thought it must have been a dream.

But what if it _hadn’t_ been a dream? What if my mind, combined with whatever powers I had received, had taken me to the most Peter place I could think of? And then, when I realised he wasn’t there, it had brought me back to where I knew he actually was? And then would have explained why none of the scientists came back. If none of them were concentrating hard enough on a place or a person—if they’d been thinking about science and physics and alien tech—then there wouldn’t have been anywhere specific to take them.

I sighed, relief coursing through me. At least a measure of science, of reason, behind this, then. Even if I couldn’t understand _why_ it worked, at least I could understand _how_ it worked. I didn’t know what the coding was behind it, but I had figured out where the buttons were.

And now all was left was to test my theory.

I closed my eyes, searching in my mind for the place I wanted to go to. Somewhere I knew well. Somewhere I could draw from memory, or at least I would be able to if I could draw for shit. And somewhere I could get breakfast, hopefully.

There was café, a five minute walk away from the tower, where Pepper used to take me after my riding lessons, back when we still lived in the Tower full time. I had been there only sporadically over the last five years, but having been there every Tuesday and Thursday from when I was six until when I was ten, I knew it pretty well.

A dark wooden floor. Glass cabinet to my right, laden with eclairs and croissants, and dozens of other things. The counter, beyond the cabinet, where baristas took orders. Wooden tables and mismatched chairs. Rickety wooden stairs near the back that led up to another seating area.

I opened my eyes. Nothing. Still the same view of New York’s skyline, and Peter’s quiet breathing from the bed. I huffed. Maybe this was crazy. Maybe it wouldn’t ever work. Maybe the powers—if they had ever existed—had disappeared with time, and it was a complete waste.

But if that was true, I was going to have to go into the kitchen and probably talk to Tony. And that did not sound like fun.

Maybe I just wasn’t visualising it properly.

I closed my eyes again, re-conjured the scene. I would sit at the table near the back, and have croissants and a chocolate milkshake. Peter would have… I hadn’t exactly been to many cafés with him, but I could imagine him being a tea person. English breakfast tea, and more croissants.

I could practically smell it. And I was salivating at the thought of the café’s croissants. Best I’d ever tasted. And I could hear the crunch of the pastry, the chatter of the customers.

I opened my eyes, and there it was. Exactly as I’d imagined it. And barely a turned eyelash at my random appearance. Someone a few tables over glanced back at me, but when nothing seemed amiss, she turned back to her laptop. _College student,_ I thought. Always working.

It took a second to sink in that I had just teleported. I had just freaking teleported. On purpose. Purposefully. By my own wishes. Intentionally. It made me laugh out loud. The college student looked back at me again, angry. Whatever. I bet her thesis wasn’t as groundbreaking as me.

Not that I could tell anyone, because the Sokovia Accords. Because the government would be keeping an eye on me. Because people would want to do tests on me. Because, because, because. And I knew I was a hypocrite for saying it like that. My dad had lost two of his closest friends over the Sokovia Accords, and I had supported him over that. And, one day, I _would_ sign them. If my powers stuck around. But if they didn’t, there was no point kicking up a fuss over it.

I stood, made my way to the counter. The barista looked at me weirdly, and I realised that _she_ had probably realised that she hadn’t seen me come in. In New York, though, people didn’t normally ask questions.

I placed my order, and within minutes she had it ready. I thanked her, payed, and made my way to the back of the café, ready to try again. _If this doesn’t work, you’re gonna have to walk past Tony anyway_ , said a voice in the back of my head, but I just squeezed my eyes shut. _Peter. Bed. Windows. Door. Blue walls. Fairy lights on the wall. Photos of me and Morgan and Pepper and Tony and Happy and Rhodey and Peter. My letter from Mom. The desk. Sunshine. Smell of pasta that hasn’t quite gone from last night._

And somewhere between me beginning my imagining, and me opening my eyes, it had become real. Except, instead of Peter being asleep in the bed, he was standing beside it, looking very, very flushed, as he pulled on his socks and shoes.

He turned around, reaching for the duvet, presumably to make the bed—he was so damn _sweet_ —and yelped. At me. Staring. At me. Because I had just appeared, from what, I assumed he had assumed, was an empty room.

“Olivia, I’m so sorry, I was just gonna stay for a little bit, and then I fell asleep, and then I just woke up and—are you holding _croissants?”_ He was staring. I stared back. He was blushing like mad. I hadn’t even known it was possible to look that guilty. “Where have you _been?”_ he said.

“Café,” I replied, and handed him his drink. “Got you English breakfast tea. Seemed like the kinda thing you’d have. If I was wrong, we can just go back.”

He took it silently, no indication as to whether he would drink it or not. “You just appeared,” he said. “Out of nowhere. Were you in the bathroom? ‘Cause if you where, I’m really—”

“I teleported, Peter,” I interrupted. He was cute when he was flustered, but he was also very talkative. And if there was one thing I tried to avoid this soon after waking up, even if it was nearly one in the afternoon, it was talking.

He spluttered. “You _what?”_

“I teleported,” I repeated. “And I don’t feel like doing it again. I’m going to the lake house. You coming, or what?”

“What, like—teleporting?” he said, still staring at me. Seriously, for a guy who could lift 75 tonnes and stick to ceilings, you’d think he’d be less surprised by everything.

“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’. I grabbed my sunglasses off the desk. Wherever my phone was, it was probably dead anyway. “Hey, FRIDAY, if they ask, tell Pepper and Tony we’re still asleep. Actually, tell them _I’m_ asleep. Don’t tell them Peter’s in here.”

“Yes, Boss,” she reported. “Mr Stark and Mrs Potts is already aware that Mr Parker spent the night in this room, Boss.”

I sighed. That would be _another_ thunderstorm to face.

“Can you—is it _safe?_ To take another person with you?” Peter asked, eyes still wide.

“No idea.” I presumed it was. Clearly, given the scientists, more than one person could be transported at once, and my clothes and coffee had come with me. “But if you _do_ come, think very, very hard about being next to the lake. The sights, the smell, the feel, the noises—everything. You in?”

He finished pushing his feet into his shoes and stepped forward. “ _Obviously_.”

 

####

 

We ended up on the dock. Peter said he’d imagined being _in_ the water, rather than next to it, so I guessed that my directions trumped. We sat at the end of the pier, the water lapping at our ankles, and ate our breakfast there, pretty much in silence other than Peter periodically telling me how awesome it was that I could teleport. I leaned back and brushed the croissant flakes off me, bracing my upper body with my arms out behind me. The sun was brushing on my eyelids again, so I pulled off the flannel shirt I was wearing on top of my tank, and let the sun hit my arms. Gods knew I needed to start tanning for summer.

After a minute, I just lay down, my ankles still in the water, but my back flat against the dock. Peter copied me, and we stared at the sky. Weeping willows around the lake whispered in the breeze, and the only other sounds were from the birds. The whole world smelled like green and clear and peace. This was the place I really felt like home in. This was where Pepper was my mom instead of CEO of Stark Industries, and Tony was my dad instead of Iron Man, and Morgan was my baby sister, instead of the ‘cutest celebrity kid to grace this world’. Peter was always Peter, wherever we went, though. That was the thing. He was the one with the secret identity, but he was the one who was always himself.

“What did you and your dad argue about?” Peter asked. I could feel his gaze on me. I didn’t think I could face looking him in the eye.

“I don’t know,” I said after a second. “He wanted me to not do stupid stuff, I wanted him to realise that saving three hundred kids isn’t stupid…”

“You know he just says it’s stupid ‘cause he cares about you, right? I mean, every hero does stuff like that all the time. He just doesn’t want you doing it ‘cause he couldn’t bear you getting hurt.”

“I guess,” I said. That wasn’t exactly what it had sounded like, but then shouldn’t I, who had listened to him argue with Pepper countless times, know that my dad didn’t always say what he meant? “I just—I don’t know,” I continued. “I just wished he was more like a dad sometimes, you know? I mean, he _is_ a dad, to Morgan, but… he’s not the same with me. And I know that’s ‘cause I turned up on his doorstep when I was five, instead of patiently waiting until I was actually _wanted_ , but still. I wish he didn’t treat me like I was going to betray him.”

Peter was silent. A flock of starlings flew across the sky, flying in ever-changing patterns around the trees. “I don’t think he thinks you’re going to betray him,” he said after a moment. “I think he thinks you’re going to die.”

The shock of the statement took a second to settle, but when it did, I snorted. “Thanks, Peter, for that statement of confidence.”

“I’m serious,” he replied, turning his head back towards the sky. “He’s scared, you know? Morgan—Morgan was born when the worst had already happened. The guy he’d been fighting against for ten years was already dead. He’d already got what he wanted. The world was safe. He didn’t have to worry about her.

“And Mrs Potts is an adult. She’s the love of his life, but she’s not his responsibility. But you’re his kid. And you turned up in his life at a time when everything was going to shit. A few months after his house blew up, a few months before Ultron. Three years before he lost half his family over a legal dispute that massively reminded him of his parents’ deaths. Five years before Thanos. And Tony was at the middle of all these things, which meant you were, too. And you just about made it through all of that, but then you got kidnapped, and… I bet it brought everything back for him, and he’s scared again.”

I considered it. In a way, he was right. I knew what it was like to feel like your world was going to fall apart within a moment’s notice. There was an overwhelming urge to say something like, _You know a weird amount about my dad’s life, Peter Parker._ But I also knew that was stupid. Because here was Peter: my first proper friend in years; someone who had saved my life; someone who hadn’t ever run away from anything, or anyone. And I didn’t think I was messed-up enough to be the first.

“When did you get so wise, Parker?”

He laughed, the sound carrying across the lake. “I’ve always been wise, just no one’s had the patience to listen to me before.”

I grinned. “I can’t say I blame them.”

The starlings returned, casting sporadic shadows over us as they flashed and twirled in the sun.

“I just wish he was more _affectionate_ , you know?” I said suddenly. The words surprised even me. It was a thought I’d had before, but I’d never had the courage to voice it. Olivia Stark, daughter of a billionaire superhero and the most powerful business owner in the world, needed a hug? Stupid. But it was true. “I just… I see him holding Morgan’s hand, and kissing her on the forehead, and tucking her in, and telling her that he ‘loves her three thousand’, but he doesn’t _do_ that with me. He barely even hugs me. And it’s really stupid, but it hurts.”

“No,” Peter said. “It’s not stupid. I get it. _I_ can hold your hand, if you want.” We both laughed, but between us, his fingers twisted through mine and I flushed. It felt natural. Like an extension of the lake and the birds and the trees. Like it was right. “But…,” Peter continued, and I was sure he was about to tell me something difficult. “Have you ever _said_ that to him? Or even to Pepper? Because I know you, Liv, and I know that you don’t often tell people what you’re feeling. You just suck it up, or let them figure it out themselves. You’ve been like that as long as I can remember. And… I didn’t know you when you were five, but…”

He trailed off again and I almost rolled my eyes. “Just say it, Parker.”

“Well, when my parents died and I came to live with May and Ben, it just—it felt weird to be close to them. It felt like, if I let them hug me or tuck me in or whatever, I was betraying my parents. And it took me a really long time to get over that, but when I finally did, they were always really unsure of it. Like they thought I was gonna get mad at them for touching me.”

I swallowed and took a second to think about what he said. “So, you think… that because we weren’t affectionate when I was little, since my mom had just died and I didn’t even know him, we just… haven’t been affectionate at all? Ever since then?”

Peter shrugged beside me. “Could be. I mean, you’re more comfortable with Pepper, aren’t you?’

Fair point. “Well, when I was younger, she was the one that looked after me. You know, Tony did what he could, but he wasn’t really in the position to be cleaning up vomit or putting a five year old to bed, and besides, what I wanted was my mom. And Pepper was the best I could find. So, yeah. Pepper did it. And I guess she just… _kept_ doing it.”

“Well, there you go then. So you just have to talk to Tony, or Pepper at least, and tell them how you feel.”

“That’ll be awkward.”

“Yeah, probably. But after a while it _won’t_ be awkward.”

“I guess.”

We both trailed off, studying the sky. Far away, an airplane gave off a stream of white smoke. On the pier between us, Peter was still holding my hand. His thumb was rubbing over mine, the contact warm and grounding.

“Since we’re here…,” Peter said, and he sat up.

I cautiously followed, raising an eyebrow when he pulled his t-shirt off to reveal those sculpted Spider-Man abs.

“I think it would be acutally a crime to _not_ go swimming.”

Before I had even finished my first protest, he had grabbed me and jumped, my scream lost in the water. My hair streamed up around us, and the light filtering through the water made it glow gold and red. I grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling myself back upright, and glared at him. He grinned, teeth showing, and there was a tug in my gut at the sight. I looked away and pushed back up to the surface.

He broke the water beside me, laughing. “Bastard,” I said. “Now my clothes are all wet.”

“You literally have a house like a hundred metres away, full of clothes. And even if you didn’t, now that you’re freaky, you could just teleport us both straight back into the shower.”

I treaded water, still glaring, ignoring the image of us. In a shower. Together. “That’s not the point,” I said, and splashed him.

His expression turned to one of outrage. “You want to splash me? Fine, splash me. But that’s a declaration of war.”

When we finally pulled ourselves back onto the pier, laughing and dripping and exhausted, my fingers were wrinkled from the water. And it was pretty much the best afternoon I’d had in a long time.


	23. Never be cruel, never be cowardly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh it's a long one. Might get another up tonight, depends on whether I'm feeling insomniac or not. Enjoy!

I squeezed my hair with the towel until it wasn’t completely soaking my shirt, and exited the bathroom, pulling a jumper on over my t-shirt and jeans. “Shower’s free,” I said, picking up the hairbrush.

Peter, sitting wrapped in a whole pile of towels, nodded and let the towels fall off him. “Are you going to talk to your dad?” he asked, his tone uncertain, as if he thought I was going to get mad at him for asking.

I sighed. “Yeah. I probably should. Or at least, I’ll go out there and if he wants to talk to me, he can.”

Peter snorted. “You’re not very good at apologies, are you?”

“I don’t think I have anything to apologise for,” I pointed out. “Everything I said last night was true, at least for me.”

Peter just looked at me, like he was waiting for something more.

“Fine,” I groaned. “I hate admitting I’m wrong. I hate it. It makes me feel weak and stupid and useless.”

He softened, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not stupid, Liv. It’s brave to admit that you were wrong, and it’s even braver to try and improve. Mr Stark taught me that.”

“Don’t call him Mr Stark, it’s weird,” I complained, wanting to change the subject. “Besides, what happened to ‘Livvy’?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You want me to call your dad ‘Livvy’?”

I glared at him and threw my sopping wet towel at him. “You know what I mean, dumbass. Now, go shower before you get hypothermia from hanging around in wet clothes.”

He dodged the towel and grinned at me before ducking into the bathroom. “Good luck, Livvy!”

I smiled. He was so damn _nice_ all the time, even if he was annoying. But now, it was time to face the lions. Tony and I hadn’t argued before. Not properly. Not a straight out shouting match. Whenever I’d been upset before, I’d played it off as just that: being upset. Not anger. And I had no idea how he was going to react. Would I be grounded? Sent to a new school? Sent to a new _family_? Fear shot through me. Could they do that? Send me back to the foster system? If they did, it would only be three years until I was an adult, but…

 _He won’t_ , I forced myself to think. _Pepper won’t let him, anyway. And besides, it’s not even Tony who’s my legal guardian; it was Pepper who adopted me_.

Yes. And Pepper, no matter what, wouldn’t let Tony throw me out.

I steeled myself, swept my still-wet hair up into a bun, and made my way out into the corridor. Passing Morgan’s bedroom door, I realised that I hadn’t seen since Monday morning, before the attack. And now it was nearing four on the Tuesday.

Tony was sitting at the island, a Stark Industries tablet in front of him. He looked up, gave a very-obviously-fake smile as I walked in, and went back to his work. I crossed to the fridge, heart thumping in my chest, and took out an apple, before sliding into a seat on the other side of the island. I took a bite and waited for him to talk.

“Is Parker still in your room?” he asked after a minute, not looking up from the tablet. Fine, if he wanted to act like that…

“Yeah, _Peter_ is still in my room. He’s in the shower,” I replied and took another bite of the apple.

“You don’t normally have boys staying over in your room,” he said after a second.

 _I don’t normally have_ anyone _staying over in my room, except Morgan._ “Peter was just being gentlemanly. I collapsed in the corridor last night, he was the one who carried me up to my room, and I asked him to stay because I didn’t want to be alone,” I said, matter-of-factly.

It had the intended effect. Tony’s expression changed, minutely, but enough for me to know that he’d been hit with guilt. “You _collapsed_?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t pass out or anything. Low blood sugar and exhaustion, apparently. I’m fine now. FRIDAY didn’t tell you?”

“No, she—when?”

I pretended to think about it. “Probably, like, four AM?”

His eyes fell away from mine. “Oh.”

 _Four AM, right after our argument._ His expression was starting to make me feel bad about the guilt-tripping. Along with the fact that he hadn’t shouted, sworn, or said anything cross. Aside from the awkwardness, it could have been a normal conversation. But _I_ wasn’t going to start talking about the argument directly. Just like Tony didn’t like to be handed things, I didn’t like asking for things. So if, as Peter had said, I just needed to tell him I wanted more affection, then I was going to have to wait for Tony to ask.

Tony clicked off his tablet, and I realised that the conversation was about to properly begin. I readied myself, pushed my shoulders back. If he was going to say anything—to shout, or to accuse me of being ungrateful and stupid, or say I was reckless and dangerous—then I was ready. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I had faced the Mandarin. I could damn well face my dad.

He ran a hand over his forehead, squeezed the bridge of his nose, as if he was going to say something difficult. And then: “I’m sorry, Kid.”

I almost raised an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have… I said some things that I shouldn’t have. I was scared and— remembering things that I didn’t want to remember, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

I bit my tongue. _Yeah,_ I wanted to say. _You should be sorry._ But the truth was— _I_ had said things I shouldn’t have, as well. “I’m sorry, too.” I looked down very carefully at the apple I was holding. Rivulets of juice were collecting on the surface. “And Peter pointed out that you just didn’t want me in danger.” _Peter pointed out_ , because I didn’t have the guts to say _I was wrong, because now I know…_

He huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Got that right. You saved lives, but when I found out you’d been taken, I—I need to know that you aren’t gonna turn out like me. And I know that sounds stupid, because when I was captured it was because I was a selfish, arrogant, weapons-dealing prick, whereas you were just trying to help people, but, I don't... uh... I'm gonna start again.” He ran a hand through his hair and let it fall onto the counter, before actually looking me directly in the eye. “After—the battle at the compound, and now this, and the suits you stole—I’m not mad. I just need to know that you aren’t trying to be like me.”

I shifted in my seat. “What would be so wrong with trying to be like you?”

Tony blinked, like he thought it was a stupid question. Maybe it was. My father wasn’t perfect by any means, but he had saved billions of lives. “Did you really just ask that question? You did? Uh, okay, well, how about that everyone around me gets hurt. Or that _I_ got hurt. Or—”

He cut himself off, his eyes darting downward. I had hardly ever seen him so vulnerable. “Look, this isn’t about me. This is about you, because I have to protect the people that I can’t live without. And that includes you. Which means I can’t let you be a superhero. God knows you _could_ do it. But _I_ couldn’t. I’m not Pepper. I can’t watch the people I love go out to fight without knowing whether they’ll come back. And… last night, or this morning or whatever you wanna call it, I got scared that this is when you become a superhero. That from now on you would be out—fighting aliens, and—getting hurt.”

He was silent for a second. I took a deep breath, all the way to the bottom of my lungs, and made myself blink. _Not crying. Not crying_.

“I know,” I said before I had the time to tell myself that I would regret it. Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t, but _Never be cruel, never be cowardly. Hate is always foolish, and love is always wise._ Who said it? Didn’t matter. The point was, I’d spent the last ten years wishing my dad was more honest, more loving, more open. And now he was doing those things. And if I didn’t meet him halfway, I would be cruel _and_ cowardly. Hating _and_ foolish. And what had Peter said? _Yeah, probably. But after a while it_ won’t _be awkward._

Tony glanced sideways at me, his head resting on his hand, thumb pressed against his lips.

“I know you’re scared,” I continued. “I was scared, too. But you’re a hero for a reason. Every single Avenger has just one thing in common: they would give their life to save someone else’s. To make the world a better place. And I’m not saying I’m going to be an Avenger. But if I let fear stop me from helping people, then I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. And…” I trailed off, fear swirling in my stomach.

His head was still turned towards me. He had a look in his eyes. Some mix between curiosity, guilt, and pain. But there was a light in his eyes that said he was really listening. And if I didn’t say what I wanted to say, I would kick myself later.

“And what I really need is my dad,” I said, and immediately swallowed. I focussed my gaze out of the window, where cars were passing on the streets far below, instead of looking at him. “I need my dad. If…” I trailed off again. What did I even want to say? _I need my dad, if that’s you. I need my dad, if you’re not too busy. I need my dad, if you love me the same way you love Morgan._

“What do you need from me?” Tony asked, his voice carefully controlled. Was it annoyance that his tone was hiding, or was it something else?

My courage failed. _Never be cruel, never be cowardly._ Yeah, well. _Easy for you to say._ “I don’t know,” I finally said. “Just, like… it would be nice if—it would be nice if we did some of the things that you do with Morgan. Going to the zoo, and—just, like, spending more time together. Peter says—Peter says that because I turned up when I was five, instead of, like, a normal kid, we might not do the normal things, like hugging, and—and things,” I finished lamely. _Oh, my god._ My chest was burning. It felt like _shame_ , because I was so damn stupid. How many people out there had told their own father that their relationship _wasn’t normal_ because they didn’t _hug?_

“Is that something you want more of? Hugging, ‘and things’?” Tony asked. Again, his voice was controlled, tight in every direction.

I shrugged, fighting to keep myself from breaking down. God, it wasn’t even like there was anything to cry about. So what, if he didn’t want to hug me? “Sure, I guess,” I said. “But I know that what me and you have isn’t really the same as what Morgan and you have—I mean, you didn’t even want—and Pepper’s the one who adopted me—and—”

“No,” Tony cut me odd. “No, Olivia. Kid. What you heard, what you mentioned yesterday, about me not wanting a kid… When you first came to us I wasn’t in the right headspace to be a father. But Pepper told me to give it a chance. She said she believed in me. If it wasn’t for her… I probably would have sent you back to whence you came, not because of you, but because of _me_. I didn’t trust myself. And I know I haven’t been perfect. Far from it, really, but—you’re my daughter. And you have to believe I don’t love you any less. Maybe things would have been different if you’d been mine from the beginning, but you’re mine now, and that’s what matters. I’m sorry I didn’t do things right. I’ll do better from now on.”

We looked at each other. He looked… hopeful. And I realised that if anyone had given me a script of what he’d said, I would have laughed. Or cried. It would have seemed insincere. But with Tony looking at me; with him saying it the way he’d said it, with sincerity and honesty and the sighs and cadences that were to particular to the way he spoke… It was as real as it could ever be.

I smiled at him as I swallowed, the corners of my lips turning up just enough that some of the seriousness fell away from his expression.

“Now come give your old man a hug,” he said, and I rounded the island, my arms lifting from my sides a little. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and he wrapped his around my shoulders, squeezing. He was warm, the fabric of his fleece soft against my cheek. The pressure of his grip was just enough to be secure, close, kind. I sniffed and squeezed my eyes shut, and Tony’s grip grew tighter. When I loosened my grip, he let go.

And then we just, sort of, looked at each other. Was I supposed to say something else? Was there a way you were supposed to act? Like some sort of end-of-argument script? Tony was looking at me like he was waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t have anything else to say.

Just when it was beginning to get awkward, someone cleared their throat. Dad and I both turned to see Peter at the end of the corridor, standing awkwardly with his hands folded in front of him, his hair still damp from his shower and wearing just his jeans.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just—I didn’t—my clothes are all in here, so—” I held back a smile as he edged sideways to his bag, dumped in the corner of the room, and dug out Dad’s old MIT sweater. “And also, is there anything to eat?”

We both got up, and Tony ran to the fridge, his back now turned to us. Peter raised an eyebrow and I smiled back at him. I was going to have to thank him for his advice at some point, and I would bet that he was going to be smug as hell about it.

“You two haven’t eaten all day. You must be starved,” Tony was saying, pulling items out of the fridge.

Peter and I shared another glance. “Actually… Peter and I got croissants at lunch time.”

Tony turned. “What? How? I thought you were asleep. You haven’t left your room!”

“Yeah,” I said, “About that.” Peter grinned as he slid into the seat next to the island. “I can kinda teleport? Like, on purpose now? And Peter came with me to the lake house?”

“So you’ve been sneaking around behind my back using magic teleporting powers while I sat here—”

“Not _all_ day,” I pointed out. “We still only woke up at, like, twelve.”

Tony just shook his head. “Alright, grab a snack then. May and Pepper and everyone will be back in half an hour and then we’re making dinner. All of us. As a family.” He caught my eye as he turned, a tiny grin on his face, as if to say _See? I’m gonna do this, and I’m gonna do it right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw the quote 'never be cruel, never be cowardly. Hate is always foolish and love is always wise' is from doctor who. Would 8/8 recommend, especially matt smith and peter capaldi's seasons


	24. Guilt

“Thanks, hun,” May said as I set down the stack of dishes next to the sink. “No, you lot clear off! Happy and I will be doing the clearing up, seeing as we’re the ones who can’t cook,” she said, grinning at Happy. He flushed pink and I bit back a smile. I didn’t even think May realised the effect she had on him.

At the table, Peter was stacking glasses while Morgan, standing on the chair beside him, attempted to climb onto his shoulders. Every few seconds he’d stop what he was doing to put her down, and she’d climb back onto the chair and try again. May appeared behind Peter and ushered him away, repeating what she’d said to me before taking the stack of glasses away. Morgan was talking to him, nattering on about what she’d done that day while climbing all over him, her arms around his neck. She was hanging on him like he was a climbing frame.

“—and then—and then Kamala said—she said that she was _hungry_. Can you believe it, Peter? She said she was _hungry.”_

Peter grinned at her, his arms coming to hold her tight. She was sitting on his hip, now, legs wrapped around his waist. “Wow. No, I can’t believe it, Morgan. That’s shocking.”

“Yep,” Morgan said.

I caught Peter’s eyes over the table and we both had to contain our laughter. Morgan was always doing this—telling long, complicated stories that didn’t really make sense. We’d figured out a while ago to just let her do it and then give the expected reaction at the end. Peter had clearly caught on quicker than we had.

“Hey, Mo,” Peter said, setting Morgan down on the floor. He pointed across the room to where Pepper and Tony were sitting on the couch, him with his head in her lap and his vibranium right hand entwined with her left, resting on his chest. “Why don’t you go and tell your mom and dad?”

Morgan pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek and ran across the room before jumping straight on top of Dad. He groaned, but let Morgan begin to tell her story.

“What was she telling you about?” I asked Peter, coming to stand next to him.

He watched her with fond eyes. “I honestly have no idea. She’s impossible to understand.”

I snorted and we drifted towards the balcony, sliding the glass door half-closed once we were out. “How did it go?” he asked, climbing up on top of the rail and letting his legs hang.

“Um, Peter,” I said, peeking over the side. “You do realise that we’re, like, eighty floors up.”

He smirked at me and pulled back the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal the black bands that I recognised as his web shooters. “It’s fine,” he said. “Even if I fall, which I won’t because I stick to things, I can catch myself.”

“You wear them all the time?” I asked, frowning.

“I do now,” he replied.

“Right,” I said, climbing up next to him. When he gave me a look, I just said, “Teleporting, remember? Besides, I trust you to catch me.”

He gave me a look. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh, really? Then what is the point?”

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that. We both looked out over the city. The sun was setting behind the skyscrapers, but the street far below were still busy. Cars, taxis, pedestrians, motorbikes. There were probably superheroes down there, too, given how full New York was of them. It was vertigo inducing, to be so high up and see so far down, but what I’d said was true. I trusted Peter to catch me, even if I couldn’t teleport myself back up here.

“How did it go?” Peter repeated once a bus that had just passed the tower had disappeared from sight.

“How did what go?” I asked. “The conversation with Tony?”

He nodded.

I shrugged. “Good, I think. I think I was a bit mean to him. He seemed pretty… torn-up over it. Sometimes I forget that his own dad was so crap, you know? I mean, Pepper’s mentioned before that pretty much his greatest fear is that he ends up like him, and then I… I don’t know. I think it’s sorted now, though. We hugged, after.”

Peter made a noise of agreement, though I didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing with. “So, did you ask him? Mention that you wanted more affection and stuff?”

I sighed. “Sort of. It was brought up, but I didn’t really _ask directly_. I’m still really crap at asking for things.”

Peter let out a short laugh. “I’ve found your weakness,” he said.

I snorted. “As if I’ve only got one.”

“—Says the person who took out four armed killers with no weapons at all,” Peter pointed out. “I feel like, if you had many weaknesses, they would have shown up there.”

“—Says the person who takes out criminals every day.” I smirked as Peter blushed. “And you even manage to not get kidnapped at the end.”

“Well, anyway,” Peter said. “If you’re bad at asking for things, you just have to practise. Get used to it. So, ask me for something.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, ask me for something you want. Anything. Just ask me, come on!”

“Alright, fine. Peter, can I…” I trailed off, thinking. I had pretty much everything I wanted. And even if I didn’t, they weren’t things Peter could give to me. I almost asked, ‘ _Can I come Spider-Manning with you_?’ but I knew he would say no, or at least argue, and I didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere. “Peter, can I sit with you and your friends at lunch?”

He looked sideways at me and blinked, surprised. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “But you know you don’t have to ask.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “But you told me to ask for something and that was the only thing I could think of.” _Or at least, the only realistic one I could think of._ I wasn’t going to give up on the Spider-Man request, but I could think of better ways to go about it.

“Fair enough.” We fell silent, each of us in our own thoughts. I was running through the different ideas for additions to my superhero attire. Teleportation wasn’t enough. I needed ways to fight, and I was no Nat, which meant I’d need weapons. Wings would be good. I wanted to be able to fly, and though I loved the Iron Man suit, I wanted to feel the wind on my skin when I was in the air. So, I could copy Falcon for that, maybe.

First I’d go after the Mandarin. It’d obviously be a big thing, but it needed to be done. My mother had given her life trying to stop them, or whatever version of them had existed before. If they were back now, and stronger, then I had to take them down. Other than that, maybe I’d take a leaf out of Peter’s book and stick to the ground, taking out thieves and—

“Oh, my god, Peter,” I said. He turned to look at me, his arm coming out as if I had been about to fall off the rails. I was just focussing on his face—his eyes, which had been peaceful and were now alarmed. “I forgot to ask. How are you doing, with all—you know? It just completely slipped my mind.” How could I have forgotten about Seven Westcott, the very reason Peter had been on his field trip to SI in the first place? We’d spent the entire weekend looking after Peter for that very reason, and then I’d just forgotten.

Peter deflated a little, and I wondered whether I should have asked. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. That. I’m okay, I think. I completely figured out your plan to keep me at the Tower with Mr Stark’s field trip, and it was really nice of you guys to think about it, but I think I’m ready to go back to school. In a weird way I feel better about it since the attack, ‘cause it means the security will be way up. Not that he’s going to come for me, of course, but it just… makes me feel better.”

I smiled at him, though he was still looking straight ahead. “And of course you feel better now that you have another badass superhero round to protect you.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“Me, dumbass,” I said, nudging his side. “You’re lucky we’re sitting on the edge of a balcony or I would have shoved you properly.”

The corners of his lips quirked up, and I felt his arm sneak up behind me to poke me on the other side. I pretended not to notice, but then his arm came to rest across my shoulders, his hand brushing my upper arm, pulling me in to his side, and I flushed.

“Seriously, though,” I said. “You’re okay? You’re, like, sleeping fine, and everything?”

He shrugged, the movement travelling along his arm, which was still hanging around my shoulders. “I’m not perfect,” he said, “But I’m good. I actually slept really well last night, though I don’t know if that was because… you know… we were in there together.”

“You can stay again tonight, if you want,” I said. Peter gave me a look and I nudged him again, letting my arm snake around his waist. “Idiot. You know what I mean. If it’s good for you, you should stay. Whenever you want. School nights, too. Even if Pep and Dad don’t want you to, you could just climb in the window.”

He sighed. “That would be really nice actually, but I don’t want to freak May out. She’ll probably let me stay tonight, but school nights I’ll have to be in my own bed.”

“Is tonight not a school night?” I asked. It was a Tuesday, only just over 24 hours since I’d been rescued.

“Nope,” Peter replied. “Starts again on Thursday. Tomorrow we’re free, except there’s an ‘open house’ in the evening so we can go back with our families and look around.”

“Oh,” I said. One more day of freedom, without having to go back into the building. I should have been pleased about that, but it was niggling at me that I didn’t actually know anything about the situation. “Did anyone… Is everyone okay?”

Peter’s expression darkened. “They shot one of the chefs. She was in one of the storage rooms and wouldn’t come with them to the cafeteria, so they shot her.”

I swallowed. “Oh, my god. _I_ was in one of the storage rooms. To get sugar for my bombs. I didn’t… I didn’t see her.”

I felt Peter’s gaze on me, though we were too close together to properly turn our heads. “There’s more than one storage room. You probably weren’t in the same one.”

I nodded. Someone was actually dead. I hadn’t been able to save everyone. Someone had been shot right next to me. That _would_ have been me, if I had been caught. _Well,_ said a little voice in the back of my head, _You_ were _caught. And you were_ almost _killed._ But it wasn’t the same thing.

“Other than that, nothing,” Peter continued. “Their bomb was mostly a distraction, and pretty small. Some kids are injured; like, four, are in hospital, one in a coma but expected to wake up soon. But the cook is the only one who they actually managed to kill, thanks to you.”

I swallowed. “I guess.” But still. Someone was dead. Another in a coma. Three others in hospital, and I could bet there were dozens more that would need therapy for months. I’d messed up. I should have figured out something faster. Should have got them out sooner. Should have done _something_ , even if I’d died that had prevented all that shit.

“How _did_ you do it?” Peter asked, pure curiosity evident in his voice. “You absolutely don’t have to say if you don’t want to—I mean, don’t feel any pressure to talk about it, but—”

“It’s fine, Peter,” I said. “I got acid and bleach and alcohol from the chem labs and then made chloroform. Lured two of them away one by one and took them down with that. Then I got sugar from the store rooms and climbed around in the roof above the cafeteria, where all the kids were being kept, to put sugar down the light fixtures. Then I blew it up. They came out to try and find me and kill me, but I put sugar in the fuse box and blew that up, too.”

Peter whistled. “That’s pretty impressive. And the fuse box got them both?”

“Um,” I said. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about this bit, not out of trauma but because I knew it would infuriate him. “Not exactly. I kicked the second one in the balls and stole his gun and then threatened them both.”

Peter went still beside me. I could hear his breathing, feel the movement of his chest. “You _fought_ them? Like, hand-to-hand combat? When they had _machine guns?_ Livvy, that’s insane!They could have killed you!”

I opened my mouth to make a retort when the glass door slid open and Morgan appeared. “Daddy told me to tell you two off for sitting on the edge of the balcony,” she said severely. “Can I sit on the edge of the balcony?”

Peter and I shared a horrified glance, our previous trains of thought forgotten. “Absolutely not, Morgan,” we said at the same time. “Nope. It’s too dangerous. Peter and me are both superheroes, remember? We can do things like that.”

Morgan frowned. “Why are _you_ a superhero?” she questioned, and my words caught in my throat. We had agreed that we wouldn’t tell Morgan about this particular development. We had impressed upon her the importance of not mentioning that Spider-Man was actually a sixteen year old from Queens, but she had only known that in the first place because Tony had thought he was gone forever and hadn’t thought about the consequences of spilling Peter’s life story to a three year old. There was no point telling her about me unless she needed to know.

And, Peter would argue, and probably everyone else would, too, I _wasn’t_ a superhero. I had done one thing. That didn’t make me a superhero.

“I’m joking, Morgan,” I said, sliding back onto the balcony proper. “But I’m a big girl. You definitely cannot sit on the edge of the balcony, alright?”

Morgan grumbled, but agreed. I was pretty sure FRIDAY wouldn’t let her out onto the balcony without an adult, anyway.

“Come on, munchkin,” I said, picking her up and swinging her onto my hip. “Isn’t it time for you to go to bed?”

 

####

 

May did, as Peter predicted, agree to him staying the night, and also accepted the offer of the guest room to avoid going all the way back to Queens. Pepper made us pull a second mattress through from the second spare room, since we insisted on Peter staying in my room, but I didn’t know if we were actually going to bother, seeing as I had a double bed which was easily big enough for both of us. And if it was better for Peter to be in the same bed, then we would be in the same bed. Full stop. End of.

We each took our turn giving Morgan a kiss on the forehead—even May, though Happy and Rhodey had left right after dinner—and Peter and I played a game of Jenga on the floor between our beds. Peter won, but he had the Spider-Sense and I was pretty sure that was cheating.

Peter took the mattress, and as I was working up the nerve to ask whether he wanted to share my bed, the door swung open, letting a triangle of light in. Once I had blinked past the glare, I saw Tony.

“Night, kiddos,” he said. “Good to see you’re in your own beds tonight.” I gave him a look, and he replied with a smirk. “Anywho, sleep well. Love you both.”

I muttered “love you” back as he closed the door. He didn’t usually say that. Didn’t usually say goodnight at all, unless I came to him first. So, that was him being more affectionate, I guessed.

I turned to Peter, who was staring, dumbfounded, at the door. “He said, ‘love you’.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Peter turned to look at me, his eyes still wide. “I just… didn’t expect it.”

“He already thinks of you as his kid, dumbass. Obviously he loves you.”

Peter just lay down, his eyes still wide. I smirked as I switched off the light. Easily pleased, clearly.

I couldn’t sleep. I lay there, eyes open, for at least half an hour. The image just kept playing in my head of a cook, refusing to bend for a bunch of terrorists, and getting shot in the head for it. I didn’t know what she’d said. I didn’t even know what she looked like, but the image was vivid enough for it to have come straight from an action film.

I had to stop the Mandarin.

“Liv?” Peter asked from where he lay. “You awake?”

“Yep.”

Other than our voices, the house was silent.

“What are you thinking about?”

I sighed. I could lie. He wouldn’t want me thinking about what had happened at the school. But he had done this sort of thing before. He had seen people die. Maybe he’d have a pearl of wisdom for me. “The attack,” I said. “I should have been able to save them.”

“Livvy, you _did_ save them.”

“Not all of them.”

“But you can’t always save everyone. We save as many as we can, and sometimes it’s not everyone. But what you did was amazing, and—”

“I can’t stop thinking about them.”

He was silent for a minute. “I know,” he replied. “Neither can I. I should have been there. To protect you. But I wasn’t.”

“It’s not _your_ fault,” I said. “You were away. No one could predict what happened. It’s not your job to protect our school.”

“It’s not _yours_ , either.”

I studied the ceiling in the darkness. The only light in the room was from the charging lights of my various electronics. “True,” I conceded. “But I still don’t think I’ll be able to sleep soon. It feels like we only just woke up.” Despite our swimming, teleporting, water-fighting, and all the chatting, I just didn’t feel tired.

“That’s because we _did_ just wake up. It’s eleven. You were up at twelve, I was up at one.”

“True,” I repeated. “We should watch a movie.”

Peter ended up in my bed again, tucked under the covers, our legs touching all the way down with the laptop balancing between us. We watched The Notebook and I was pretty sure I heard a sniff from Peter. Either way, by the time the movie was over and I slid the laptop onto the floor beside the bed, he was fading into sleep, and just as the darkness was claiming me, he rolled towards me and his arm came to rest over me, the weight warm and reassuring on my waist.


	25. paintballing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: guns, panic attacks
> 
> Enjoy! Sorry for mistakes, it's one in the morning and I'm tired af but you guys deserved another chapter

“You’re doing _what_?” I asked, my spoon halfway to my mouth. A cheerio fell from the spoon and the milk splashed onto the table. I barely even noticed.

“We’re going paint balling,” Tony said again. “Not my fault. Wilson messaged. He said that he’d told us before and I just hadn’t been paying attention to my e-mails, which sounds about right.”

“Who else is gonna be there?”

Tony shrugged, taking another bite of toast. “Just… others. Wilson. Peter, obviously. Scott and Hope. Carol. Steve and Barnes. Wanda. Thor’s still in space with the guardians. The Doc said it’s stupid, apparently, so he won’t be joining us. Bruce is coming but won’t join in. And you guys.”

I shared a glance with Peter. “And you guys have to go?” I asked.

“Well, kiddo, Peter’s an Avenger so yes, and apparently I’ve already agreed to it, so I probably should.”

I looked between them. Peter just looked thrilled at the idea of spending time with his heroes, outside of a world-threatening battle and without anyone in a hospital bed. Whereas I was _not_ looking forward to spending the whole day alone.

“Can I come with you?” I asked, putting on my best puppy dog eyes.

Tony shifted in his seat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What with the… guns, and things?”

I frowned at him. “What? That’s totally different. Yeah, it would be fine. And Pepper should come, too, to keep the teams even. Morgan already told me that she’s gonna be at her friend’s house for lunch and the afternoon, which means that you don’t even have _that_ as an excuse.”

Tony looked ready to protest.

“Oh, come on, Dad! Besides, I need to thank Steve and Bucky for their rescue mission, don’t I? And Carol for carrying me to the hospital after the battle at the compound. It would be rude not to.” I didn’t care much about thanking Steve or Bucky. As far as I saw, we were even now, after they’d nearly killed my dad. But Carol I _did_ want to thank, and to meet properly, seeing as she was the original Avenger, and the most powerful person ever.

Tony huffed. “Kid,” he said, “Since when have I ever cared about _manners?”_

“Since they belonged to your kids instead of you?” I suggested. “It’ll be family bonding time.”

He sighed. Peter was looking backwards and forwards between us like it was a tennis match.

“Fine,” Tony grumbled. “But _you’re_ the one who has to convince Pepper to come. And you’re not getting out of the school open house tonight!”

 

####

 

I stepped out of the car, Peter right behind me.

“Dude,” he said under his breath. “Ned is going to freak when he hears about this.”

I swallowed.

In the field in front of us, standing in circles, chatting, stood the Avengers. Carol stood next to Hope van Dyne. Steve had his arm around Bucky, conversing with Wanda Maximoff and a short black girl. Scott Lang was annoying Sam Wilson, a shit-eating grin on his face, while Bruce watched.

“Who’s the new girl?” I asked Tony as he came to stand next to me. Pepper was on his other side, arms crossed. While she had agreed to come on the basis that she didn’t have any meetings today, I wasn’t sure whether she was actually happy about it.

“Princess Shuri,” Pepper said a second later. “Of Wakanda.”

I raised my eyebrows. “The one who gave you the metal arm? The one who was completely up for giving _me_ a metal arm, too?”

“Metal fingers, Olivia, and not even that.”

I turned back towards the groups. “Same difference.”

Before we had even reached the group, Sam was calling the group together. Nods and a few handshakes were directed at Tony as we merged with the others, but mostly people were listening to Sam.

“The groups are as follows,” he said. “Tony, Steve, Wanda, Peter, Shuri, and Hope. And on the second team, Carol, Pepper, Bucky, Scott, Olivia, and me.” A spark shot through me. Not only would I have the chance to shoot Peter, but _also_ I was on Carol’s team. “Now, given our two new arrivals, I’ve had to shuffle the teams around a bit, but I think we’re roughly even. You’ll remember from my emails what I said, but to recap: enhancements _are_ allowed as long as it’s non-contact, and no weapons except for the paintball guns. Carol, please be nice. This is a friendly team-building game, which is why we’ve invited the old men—” He sent a pointed look in Steve, Bucky, and Tony’s directions— “But we’re also supposed to be building tactics, so please try and do more than shoot whoever’s annoyed you recently.”

Bruce appeared, rolling a cart of long, thin guns, and the group started passing them around, along with coloured vests for the different teams.

“The aim of the first round is to be the last team with a member left standing, but we’ll move onto more complicated ones later. You have five minutes to find a position. Go!”

Before I had a chance to talk to Peter properly about how damn crazy it was that we were playing paintball with Carol freaking Danvers (everyone else was cool too), or even to threaten Peter, the groups were racing towards opposite ends of the forest that stood to one side of the field.

Carol and Sam were leading the group, chatting easily, and I realised that Sam’s wings were strapped to his back. They counted as enhancements, rather than weapons, then. I made a mental note to get a proper look at them at some point. While I was sure I could find footage and even blueprints of them, seeing them in real life would be useful for my copying. Pepper and Scott had also fallen into a pair, and I heard the names ‘Cassie’ and ‘Morgan’ enough to know that they were probably just commiserating and boasting about their respective daughters.

Which left Bucky.

He was walking a bit to the right of the group, his head down. His hair had been cut, back to the almost-cropped look I’d seen in photos of the 40s. I liked it. It made him seem cleaner, less like a homeless man. I remembered flashes of what had happened in the bunker. I remembered his body shielding mine, peppering bursts of gunfire, and him and Steve leaping through groups of soldiers and taking them down together. To protect me.

And no matter what I’d thought earlier, about not needing to thank them, I found myself drifting towards his side of the group.

“Mr Barnes?” I said, once we were close enough that the rest of the group wouldn’t catch our conversation.

He turned, and actually _smiled_ when he saw me, although I thought I sensed a tinge of nervousness, too. “Hey, kid. Just call me Bucky.”

I nodded and fell into step beside him, and—focussing on what I was here to do—swallowed. I was marginally better at thanking people than apologising or asking for things, but I still wasn’t very good at it. At what level did it stop being sweet and start being _You’re reading too much into this_?

I forced myself to start speaking before I lost my nerve.

“I just wanted to say thank you, Mr Bucky, for coming to help me at the bunker the other day,” I managed to make it sound like a question, with the end of the sentence rising. “I know that—I know that you didn’t have to do that, and I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me if you didn’t come to—” I almost choked on the word— “save me. So, um, yeah. Thanks.”

He gave me a lopsided smile. “No problem, Stark.”

I offered a smile back and we fell into silence. People didn’t usually call me ‘Stark’. Other than boys in the corridors who thought they knew me but didn’t, and wanted to ask me out on dares. Well, they weren’t all necessarily dares. But none of them had been the result of actually _knowing_ me, so it had the same effect.

“I’m sorry, too, you know,” Bucky said, and I looked up. I hadn’t really expected him to say anything else. “About what happened with your dad. And your grandparents. I swear it wasn’t me that—”

“It’s fine, Bucky,” I cut him off. “I get it.”

And, something that was surprising even to myself, was that I _did_ get it. I’d always understood what it meant that Bucky had been mind controlled. I’d never blamed him for _that_ part. But with my new powers and how it had made me think about the accords, I suddenly understood. I didn’t exactly forgive Bucky or Steve. Not yet, at least. I’d seen my Dad when he’d come home. How he hadn’t been out of his lab for weeks on end, just building new and newer and newer suits until he perfected the nanotech. I’d even snuck through FRIDAY’s firewalls and watched the clips of the fight. So I wouldn’t been able to forgive Bucky or Steve for what they had done to him. But I _understood_ it. I knew that he hadn’t killed my grandparents, and while Tony had been 100% justified in his reaction in Siberia, so had Bucky. He had, mostly, just been trying to get away.

And I didn’t think my dad had been perfect either.

Bucky frowned almost imperceptibly before nodding and letting his gaze fall back down to the ground.

“How’ve you been?” he said after a minute. “Considering everything that happened.”

“Oh, you know,” I replied, letting a breezy tone into my voice. “Pretty good. No lasting effects.” Tony hadn’t wanted to tell the world about my powers, even the Avengers, and I was inclined to agree given that I didn’t even know if they would last. There had been a reason why I hadn’t just teleported us all to the field. That, and that I had no idea what it looked like, which I assumed made it impossible for me to teleport.

“So,” I said, once the air had cleared of that topic of conversation. “You and Steve. When did _that_ happen?”

For the first time, the hints of a real smile appeared on Bucky’s lips. “Oh, you know. A month or so after we all got brought back. He said he’d ‘missed me too much while I was gone to waste another moment’. I obviously had to point out that he’d wasted about a month, but the sentiment was there.”

“It’s nice,” I said after a second, letting a similar smile cross my face. “I think everyone here needs something like that in their lives.”

Bucky hummed in agreement. “And it makes me think—makes us both think, you know,” he continued, “About how if we’d stayed in the 40s, none of this would have been possible. Silver lining, huh?”

We came to a clearing in the woods and formed a circle, the conversation broken off for now.

“Alright, gang,” Carol said, her gaze sweeping across us. “Who can do what?”

Pepper tapped at a pendant and immediately a stain of purple and silver washed across her. We all watched as the suit formed before our eyes. It was one thing to see it—it was another thing completely to wear it, and I was again hit with bitterness and Tony’s refusal to let me have mine back. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be letting me go to school weaponless again, but among the most dangerous people on earth? I was safe, apparently.

Sam spread his wings with a gesture. “Might need a lift above the trees, though,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to chop down this lovely forest.”

Scott we all knew could turn tiny, though we agreed that going big was a bad idea given the nature of the game: one hit to the torso or head and you were out. Bucky we all also knew as super-strong and super-grumpy, but eyes were appraising me, waiting for a suit or a gadget.

“Um,” I said, and Carol turned to look at me. “I kind of… can’t do anything. I mean, I’m smart, but Tony wouldn’t give me a suit.” _Idiot,_ I thought to myself, _Why did you mention you’re smart? They don’t need an astrophysicist; they need fighters._

“That’s fine,” Carol replied. “Princess Shuri is also unpowered, though I’m sure she has a gadget, and given that hand-to-hand is off limits, super-strength isn’t much of a benefit. That means Captain Rogers and Mr Parker are at least a little less powerful than usual. This game is more about tactics than individual powers.” Almost without her noticing, I thought form her demeanour, Carol’s fists began to glow and her feet were raised off the ground as the air turned golden around her.

“That’s wicked,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying, and she grinned at me.

“I know,” she said, before turning her gaze back to the rest of the group. Maybe not so unnoticed, then. “Alright, so here’s what we’re gonna do…”

 

####

I crouched behind the tree, my back pressed against the bark.

“Nothing here,” I whispered into my gun, the radio flickering. Wires were sticking out, but it was good enough, especially considering I’d had about three minutes to try and rewire six guns.

In the distance, I heard a howl of pain and a shouted swear word. “I got Steve,” Bucky said into the mic, and I grinned.

“I’ve got nothing,” Scott said, and Pepper and Sam’s confirmations followed.

We waited for Carol’s confirmation to move forward, but instead: “I think I’m surrounded,” she said. “Looks like they went for most powerful pickings first, huh. It’s fine. I’ll fight my way out. You guys move onward. Remember to keep the perimeter tight. We don’t want them getting in behind us.”

I ducked out from behind the tree and gripped the gun tighter as we moved forward. Pepper was on my left, Scott on my right, but both were barely visible through the trees.

In the distance, shouts and over-exaggerated screams could be heard, and after a few minutes, Carol appeared on the radio again. “Sorry, guys. I took down Stark, Wanda, and Hope, but the Princess got me. I think she has some kind of heatseeking tech rigged up to her gun, already.”

The radio buzzed again. “Yeah, she’s got me, too, little shit,” Bucky said. “Says it’s payback for stealing her goats.”

I frowned. _Stealing her goats?_ What the hell had been going on out in Wakanda?

“That means there’s just Shuri and Peter left then,” Pepper said and I snorted.

“You’re really into this, huh, Pep?”

“I’m competitive,” she replied.

“Clearly.” We moved through the forest, my eyes scanning not just the ground floor but the tree tops, too, because I knew that Peter wouldn’t be wasting his climbing skills. Carol and Bucky had been right at the other end of our line, and I was expecting all of their group to have been at that end, but if so far no one had seen Peter, then perhaps he was hiding rather than fighting.

Heart thumping in my chest, I moved onwards. There was a flash of colour to my left, but when I looked it was just Pepper in her Rescue armour. She lowered her head to her gun, and said, “I think I should fly around to the other side. Neither of the two left can fly, so that’d give me an advantage. Besides, we don’t want them springing up behind us.”

Carol sent confirmation and there was a flash of silver as Pepper disappeared beyond the canopy.

A flash of fear lit in my chest and I pushed it down. _Stupid._ It wasn’t like I was at school. These were _paintball_ guns, for god’s sake. If I couldn’t do this, what could I do?

I pressed onward.

There was a click and I dodged to the right, spinning behind the tree at the last second. A burst of blue splashed across the forest floor and I gasped.

“Peter?” I asked, raising my gun.

“Yep,” came a reply, and as far as I could tell, he was still halfway up that tree.

“What are you doing up there? Weren’t involved in the Captain Marvel take-down?”

I heard him sigh from twenty metres away. “Nope. They said the best tactic was to keep someone away from the action. With my advanced reflexes and Spider-Sense, apparently I was the natural choice.”

“Well,” I replied, squeezing my eyes closed and painting a picture in my mind of a tree ten metres to my left, “It’s just you and Shuri left now, so that was probably a good decision.”

“What? How do you know?”

“We hooked up comms,” I said, grinning when I opened my eyes to find myself with a clear view of Peter. He was still watching the tree I _had_ been behind. “Carol told us.”

“Oh,” he grumbled. “That’s a good idea. Why didn’t we think of that?”

I shrugged before remembering that he couldn’t see me. “Because you’re not as smart as I am?”

I saw his grin as he shot a silent web at the tree I’d been on and swung through the air, hitting it with barely a stir in the branches. Apparently he hadn’t even noticed that my voice as coming from a completely different spot. “That must be it.” He edged around the tree, still hanging onto the web in one hand and the gun in the other.

I raised my own gun, pulling him into the sights and taking a breath. He was at least five metres up, and I was eight or so metres from the base of the tree, but the gun would reach that far, wouldn’t it? Or would the weight of the projectile reduce its speed?

I took a deep breath and flexed my finger against the trigger, ready to shoot. Peter was still edging around the tree, going at about a centimetre a minute, and I had a clear shot of his back.

Something poked me from behind, digging into the small of my back. “I don’t think you want to do that,” a heavily-accented, female voice said.

And the panic in my stomach hit my head, turning my vision fuzzy. I span, hitting the gun away from my back and stumbled, my butt hitting the floor. I scooted backwards until my back hit the tree, my mind filling with images.

_Malcolm’s pistol at the small of my back, pressing me forwards toward the Extremis virus._

Heavy, rapid breaths and pine needles digging into my palms.

_The base of a pistol ramming into my forehead, and someone who was supposed to be a police officer saying, “Get her in the van.”_

I scrambled behind the tree, my fingernails scraping against the bark and the dirt.

_Running, aching all over, their laughter, before a crack and sudden, black-out pain._

“Olivia! Olivia!”

_Bullets in both legs, the burning too much to shut out_.

“Livvy, it’s me! You’re safe now!”

_The Extremis, dripping into my veins, making me flash hot and cold and hot and—more guns, guards gripping me by the arms and dragging me with them until—_

“It’s Peter. Livvy, it’s me. You’re safe now. These aren’t real guns.”

_Peter. Spider-Man. Swinging into the bunker, quipping like usual, taking out the soldiers in no time._

Peter. Peter was here. Peter was holding my hands, crouched in front of me.

I pushed him to the side, stumbled to my feet, away from the guns, pressed my hands against a tree. The bark dug into my skin, but it grounded me. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know when it had become so bad. There was a crash, not a crack, and the helmet peeled away to reveal my dad.

“Hey, kiddo, breathe,” he ordered. “Breathe for me. You can do it. Breathe.”

I took a deep, gasping breath, copying his movements, and then again. And again. And then I could breathe again. He pulled me into his side, arm reaching around me.

“You’re safe now, kiddo. You’re safe. You’re with us. You’re not with them. You’re safe.”

I focussed on his voice, not on the tears that were streaming down my cheeks or the snot that was probably gathering at my nose.

There was the snap of a twig behind me and I turned just enough to see the crowd of superheroes, watching-but-not-watching behind me. Pepper and Peter were between me and them, identical expressions of worry on their features, but it wasn’t enough to block out the sideways glances of the group. Scott and Shuri and a few others looked confused, lost, but enough of them had knowing, sad-but-accepting expressions that I was sure I wasn’t the first. Hell, I _knew_ I wasn’t the first. Tony’d had nightmares and panic attacks for years, and I’d watched from a distance while even Peter had suffered through a few.

Still. I didn’t want their pity. And I sure as hell didn’t want the embarrassment that I knew would come.

I pushed away from Tony and steadied myself instead on the tree. “I’m going home,” I muttered before squeezing my eyes shut. I felt the three move towards me, try to grab me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone in the living room.

“Morgan?” I called out. No one came running. No little voice replied.

Alone.

I let the word sink in to me, and when it did, I cried.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a bit of a filler chapter but I enjoyed writing it. Coming next: the school open house, with Livvy+Pepper+Tony+Peter+Mj+Ned action. Coming soon-but-not-next: movie nights, snooping after the Mandarin, a sleepover, and some pretty important conversations.  
> Enjoy!

It had taken an hour and a half to drive out to where the paintball was going on, and even if Pepper used her suit to get back, that was still at least forty minutes’ flight. Tony was still sans the full suit on the orders of Shuri. He’d had minor shielding and access to FRIDAY during the paintball, but not a proper suit, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to fly back at all. So. Unless they called someone in the city, Happy or Rhodey or May, I had at least forty minutes alone time.

My phone pinged and I forced back the fresh wave of tears in favour of distraction.

_Are you okay?_ Peter had asked, and from Pepper, three: _Are you safe?, Are you at home?,_ and _Someone will come back for you._

I swiped onto the messaging screen and typed to Pepper, _It’s okay, stay there, I’d rather have some time to think._

A few seconds, and then: _Are you sure?_

_Yep :)_

There was a minute or so of the speech bubble …ing, Pepper clearly typing and retyping her message until, _Text every hour so we know you’re okay. And if you’re upset again, call us._

_Sure,_ I sent, and clicked the phone off, ignoring Peter’s message. I knew I wouldn’t even have to call them. FRIDAY would be watching, and I wasn’t even mad. I’d been so stupid. It hadn’t been a real gun. And yet I’d freaked. At least when my dad was having panic attacks, he’d been having them about real threats, whereas I now couldn’t play paintball?

The phone pinged again. _Tony said to tell you he loves you. I do too xx_

It made me half-smile, but not much more. I tossed the phone onto the couch and looked up, finally taking stock of my surroundings and turning my thoughts to the future. It felt odd, being out in the living room while tears were still tracking down my cheeks. Normally when I was upset I retreated to my room where the rest of the family wouldn’t notice. But none of the family was here. I had free run of the place.

Which meant no observation.

Which meant I could do some covert research.

“FRIDAY,” I said, “Google ‘The Mandarin’ for me, please.”

The TV screen flicked on, and hundreds of results immediately appeared. I had been looking for details on the group itself, but all the latest news articles were flashing _my_ name.

_Tony Stark’s daughter returned from terrorist cell with ‘no serious damage’,_ one was named. Yeah, if you didn’t count two gunshots, a killer virus and glowing skin as damage.

_The Starks’ stints in captivity: Will we have an Iron Daughter by the end of the week? r_ ead the second, with photos of me, my father, and the Iron suit. Really? They thought, just because Tony had created his Mark I Iron Man suit whilst in captivity, I’d emerge with the same thing? Geez, I’d only been there a few hours. Then again, it was more accurate than they thought. The glow was still fading from my latest teleportation.

A third boasted a video, which I selected, if only because I saw Peter in the background of the thumbnail.

“I’m reporting from outside Midtown Science and Tech High School, where only an hour ago, terrorist attacks were reported to the police in the same pattern of three others going on right now in New York,” the news anchor said in a clear, controlled voice. In the background, students were milling around ambulances, wearing shock blankets and sobbing. “This school is notable for its outstanding academic results, including first place in the National Academic Decathlon last time it ran in 2017. However, it’s also notable for a particular student: Tony Stark’s daughter, Olivia.”

I drew in a sharp breath as a figure crossed in the background. My dad, I realised, wearing a suit jacket and jeans with some dark top on underneath. He was holding his phone to his ear, and his lips were moving, but the microphone didn’t pick up what he was saying.

“The student, fifteen, has been reported missing amongst her classmates, although the chaos outside must make it hard to tell. Police are currently sweeping the building, where a bomb was set off and four armed men corralled the students into the cafeteria. One member of staff has been found dead, and many students were injured by the bomb, including one who is in a coma. Here, we have a student who claims to have seen Olivia only minutes before she was kidnapped, and another, who was stuck in the cafeteria itself.”

The screen panned sideways, and two students stepped into the frame. “ _Shit._ My voice was sharp. Brad stood beside the news anchor, and on his other side was Betty Brant. I didn’t care about Betty; she could say what she wanted, and I knew she wanted to be a journalist so this was probably the chance of a lifetime, but Brad? I had no idea what he might say.

“So, Brad,” the woman said, her tone much lighter than it should be considering a school had just been attacked, “What can you tell us about the last time you saw Olivia?”

She held the mic towards him and there was an awkward shuffle where he tried to take the mic, while she tried to hold it for him. It ended with her in control, and he leaned forward to say, “Well, we were sitting together in the cafeteria, and we were just talking about her coming to my party next week when there was this crash and the air filled with dust, and we were sitting next to a fire escape door so I grabbed her and pulled her through into the courtyard.”

I rolled my eyes. _So not true._ Not only had I said _nothing_ about going to his party, but also he’d been knocked unconscious by the blast. _I_ had been the one to pull the door open and pull _him_ through it.

“And then she sent me upstairs to the Spanish classroom to get her phone and she went to the Chemistry lab. And so when I was on my way to the Spanish class—”

The news anchor tipped the mic back to herself and Brad fell silent. Or at least it sounded like he did, but his lips were still moving. “And what happened when you got back to the lab?” she asked, clearly trying to steer him away from talking about himself and back towards the topic of _me_.

“Um, well, she was putting all these bottles in her school bag and she got her phone—she had some sort of artificial intelligence? Like, Siri, but not Siri?— to jump on the radios of the attacker guys but we were too far away so she said she had to go closer.”

“And then what did she do?”

“Um, she left,” Brad said, sounding disappointed. Perhaps he’d been trying to gain himself a bit of fame through this interview, but she’d ruined his plans.

The news anchor kept the mic at his mouth, but he said nothing else. _Yeah, because he chickened out so I sent him to the gym_ , I thought. When she realised he wasn’t going to elaborate on my movements she turned the mic back to herself. “And what do you think she was going to do with the chemicals?” she asked him. Beside Brad, Betty was still smiling politely at the camera as if it were the Queen of England.

“Probably, uh, attack the shooters?” he said. “I think she had bleach and acid and—and something else. I don’t know what. She said she was going to climb through the ceilings towards the cafeteria.”

I almost sighed in relief when it was the ethanol he forgot. Thank god the world wouldn’t now think I was some crazy alcoholic that stole ethanol from the science labs while school shootings were going on.

“And did you see Olivia again while you were in the school?”

“No,” Brad mumbled, and clearly wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Thank you very much, Brad, we’re glad to see that you’re safe.” It was clearly a dismissal, and Brad glanced both ways before edging out of the scene. “Now, over to you, Betty,” the woman said, and Betty’s lips stretched further, whilst still managing to not look happy. It was as if she knew she should smile, but also knew she shouldn’t look happy after a school shooting. “You were in the cafeteria for the whole ordeal. Can you tell us what happened?”

“Yes, Ms Rickton, I can tell you exactly what happened,” she replied in a cheery, sharp voice. I raised an eyebrow. Maybe if she acted like this on the school announcements, everyone wouldn’t be so depressed. But then again, maybe if she acted like this on the school announcements everyone would get mad at her for acting happy.

“I was eating lunch in the cafeteria when, like Brad said, there was a crash and a shockwave. Some people’s heads slammed into their tables and I even think I saw Brad unconscious, though I must have been wrong.” She side-eyed someone off the camera.

I grinned. I hadn’t ever spoken to Betty, but I liked her. Now maybe he would think again before trying to paint me as the damsel in distress.

“Then four men dressed in black with machine guns came into the cafeteria and started shouting at us to get on the floor. They made us all sit on the floor, cross-legged, while they rounded up anyone nearby.” At this point her eyes darkened slightly and she glanced down. “One of them went into a storage room that was adjacent to the cafeteria and there was shouting but I couldn’t really hear what they were saying, and then gunshots.” She shivered. “It was one of the loudest things I’ve ever heard. Half the kids were screaming. The older ones were holding onto the younger ones, covering their ears and eyes even though we were all kids, really. They even made all the chefs and the kitchen staff come and sit on the ground. And then they just watched us. They didn’t ask us for anything or threaten anyone; they just made us all be silent, and talked to each other through their headsets.”

“What were they saying?” the anchor interjected.

The input made Betty look up again, and then straight into the camera. “They were saying that they were going to kill us when they were done.” For the first time, her voice shook. “Their exact words were that they were planning on ‘ _Wiping the ones’_ in the cafeteria, because we’d _‘heard their plans’_ , but that they were going to leave the rest of the school.”

“But they didn’t kill you,” the woman said.

Betty looked at her. “No, they didn’t.”

“And why do you think that is?”

She took a breath. I knew what came next, but not from her perspective. “There was this scream from out in the hallway. They sent one of them out to deal with it, and then a second. And then the lights went out.”

“Like a power cut?”

Betty shook her head. “There were mini explosions, little cracking noises from the ceiling. We did an experiment in Applied Physics last year where we blew up sugar dust, like what happened in that factory a few years ago, and it made the same noise.”

“So you think that someone used sugar to blow up your lights?”

Betty straightened, and her eyes flashed as if she had made a decision. “I think,” she said slowly, “That Olivia Stark did it to get the shooters away from the cafeteria.”

“And what happened next?”

Betty shrugged. “The last two shooters left the room, and we heard some crashes and a gunshot, but they didn’t come back, and then the police started evacuating us, and now… here we are.”

The screen panned back to the reporter, just the reporter, and she turned away from Betty. “Well,” she said, “There you have it, New York. Two students who witnessed the attack. With Olivia Stark now missing, we have to wonder how successful her resistance movement—if that was really what was happening—was. Furthermore, if Olivia Stark was really trying to take on armed killers with nothing but sugar dust and some school chemicals, what made her think she could win? Although much about her life is unknown, it’s thought that she’s been living with her father, and the other Avengers, since she was five. That does make us wonder how much she has picked up, and whether that includes the heroic, self-sacrificing tendencies of her father and the other heroes that only a few months ago brought half the universe back to life.

“Behind the police barrier, Tony Stark is striding up and down on his phone, shouting at the other end. The names ‘Nick’ and ‘SHIELD’ have been heard, suggesting that Stark is using his Avengers ties to try and recover his daughter. His wife, CEO of Stark Industries, Virginia, is also here, and communicating with a young boy named by his classmates as ‘Peter Parker’. It has been suggested that this boy, 16, is Olivia’s closest friend, and an intern to Tony Stark. So far, we haven’t had official comments from the police, the school, the Stark family, or the Avengers. Is it possible that Olivia Stark has been trained to become an Aveng—”

I clicked the TV off, my throat tight.

So.

That was on the Washington Post. Which meant that it wasn’t just New York papers that were reporting this. It was, apparently, news for the whole of America. Great. Just great. If I hadn’t been able to get through a corridor without staring, before, I wondered how much worse it would be now. And would Brad, with his new found fame, try to capitalise upon it by sucking up to me? Kind of lame, seeing as he was also in the year above. Shouldn’t they have been beating me up or throwing me in dumpsters, rather than inviting me to parties?

My phone pinged, cutting through my thoughts, and I reached across the couch to grab it.

_Missing you :’(and you should meet Shuri properly. You’d like her,_ Peter had said, _You should come join for the barbecue._

_I can’t,_ I typed back, _I don’t know what it looks like so I can’t teleport there._

A second later, and a video came up on my screen. It was a panorama-style clip of the field we’d begun in, with Bruce standing next to a massive barbecue, and the heroes sitting on the grass with paper plates and burgers. Tony and Pepper of course had deck chairs, though I didn’t remember those going in the car, and were chatting with Carol and Sam. The video panned sideways until Peter flipped the screen, showing himself, Shuri, and Scott. He grinned and the video ended.

I felt a pang of jealousy at his obvious enjoyment, but I didn’t exactly want to have to face them all again after the little fiasco that had been my meltdown earlier. I typed back, _Can’t, sorry. Have fun tho!_ As soon as the message was sent, I tossed the phone back onto the cushions and watched as it slid down the back of the seat. If anything important came up, FRIDAY would tell me anyway.

I stood and made my way to the lab, grabbing a bag of Haribos as I went. If I didn’t want every little thing to be all over the internet, then my superhero/Mandarin-killing/crime-stopping persona would need a mask, and therefore the rest of a costume. I wanted wings and weapons and a dozen other things.

And I might as well start it sooner than later.


	27. Open House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda long and late. Sorry dudes.

Pepper and Tony made it back at six-ish. As soon as FRIDAY informed me that they were dropping Peter at home but would be back in five minutes, I rushed back upstairs to get changed for the open house. The less time I had to spend in the same room—or on the same floor—as them, the better, because I knew they would ask questions, and I didn’t think I had the answers quite yet.

Like what had happened back there.

Or whether I would be okay at the school.

As soon as _that_ question popped into my head, I was itching even more to get going and prove that I wasn’t weak, I wasn’t crazy. I wanted to get to the school and just—be normal. Act how I usually did, and prove that whatever had happened to me hadn’t made me into someone I wasn’t. It hadn’t made me into some scared little girl that couldn’t stick her head out from under the covers without screaming.

When they got back, they came to the lab. I almost didn’t look up; I didn’t want to see their expressions, whether they would be shameful or guilty or worried, but I forced myself to make eye contact and lift the corners of my lips in what didn’t feel like a smile. They were both here. They hadn’t just sent one while the other did something else, or even asked FRIDAY to tell me I was back. No, they had _both_ come. Which meant they were going to talk.

Or, at least, that was what I expected.

Instead, Tony just rounded my workbench, where I was shutting down the last of my Top Secret Superhero films and enveloped me in a sideways hug. His arms were tight, the grip awkward as I was still sitting on one of the stools. I lifted one arm and almost patted him on the shoulder, not able to do much more given the angle of the embrace. After a second, I felt his lips press a kiss to the top of my head.

I let out a laugh, forced one, really. “I’m fine, Dad,” I said.

He stepped back. “I know you are.”

I shut my laptop down, frowning slightly. What was that supposed to mean? Had he actually missed the implications of my freak out earlier, or was it a ‘sure, (wink wink)’ reaction?

“But you know you don’t have to go to the open house tonight, Olivia,” Pepper cut in from where she stood on the other side of the metal workbench. “No one would criticise you if you didn’t show, or even if you stayed at home for a few more days. You know, I’m sure Peter would be happy to stay with you—”

“Peter wants to go back and see his friends,” I said, my voice soft. “And I’m fine, Pep. Really. I want to go back, too.”

They shared a look. “Okay, honey, that’s fine,” Pepper said. “Then I’ll just go get changed.”

She disappeared with one last over-the-shoulder smile, and it was just me and Tony. “Whatcha working on, kiddo?” he asked, his eyes roaming over the workbench, empty except for my closed laptop. I’d been pulling up specs for Falcon’s wings, trying to figure out how much smaller I could make them considering my lighter weight. Obviously, I couldn’t tell my dad that.

“Nothing much,” I said, “Just looking at the designs for your self-cleaning coffee table. It’s crap.”

Tony smirked. “Oh, yeah? You could do better?”

I slid off my stool and made my way towards the door, laptop in hand. “Uh, yeah I could. Fortunately for you, I’m not an old man with nothing better to do than invent useless things, so you can retain your position as number-one-useless-thing-inventor for now.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said, and I smirked at him.

“How’s the arm, by the way?” I asked and he glanced down at it, now covered by the sleeve of a fleece hoodie. What was it with this man and his fleeces?

“Pretty good. I could make a few tweaks, but I’ll let it be for now. Still don’t want me to come to your open house? I could turn a few heads with this bad boy.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Dad,” I said, pressing the button for the elevator. “No one would take their eyes off you. We wouldn’t get any privacy all night.”

“Well,” he said, smirking again. “It’s tough being famous.”

I stepped into the elevator, rolling my eyes, and pressed the button for the garage. “Tell me about it. And tell Pepper I’m in the car.”

The doors slid closed, and I just heard a “Love you!” before the whir of the elevator took over. It warmed me. Once upon a time I would’ve thought it cheesy, needy, to say it all the time, but it was actually really nice. Of course, I would never admit it to anyone outside of Pepper, Tony, Peter, and Morgan, but I really liked the affection. Hugs, and cheek kisses, and hand holding, and even cuddling up on the sofa when we watched movies. It made me feel loved, and I had a secret inkling that my first five years hadn’t involved that much love. A scientist getting knocked up, by accident, by a ‘boyfriend’ that dumped her a few days later? Not really the recipe for a happy life, especially given the crap I knew single mothers, especially working single mothers, got. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t remember tons of affection from my childhood.

Pepper joined me in the garage a few minutes later, wearing a dark green shirt and fancy jeans that matched my jeans and knitted jumper. We really could pass for mother and daughter, given the matching red hair and height, though Pepper was much slighter of frame than I was.

On the road, we were silent, until Pepper said, five minutes out from the school, “Are you okay, honey? And you don’t have to tell us what you think we want to hear.”

I considered for a moment. My instinct was to just say, _Yeah, of course, I’m fine,_ but in ten years Pepper had always been unfailingly kind. Even when she was forced to adopt me because the courts wouldn’t let Tony. Even when they split up, and she ended up with a kid that wasn’t hers to look after. Even when Tony was missing or drinking or having nightmares every night, she had been kind.

“I don’t know,” I finally settled on. “I guess we’ll see.”

Pepper hummed. “But you know we’re always here for you, and you can talk to us about anything, right, honey? Whether you think it’s stupid, or you’re scared—whatever. We won’t be mad. Night or day.”

“Sure, Pepper.”

We fell back into a silence that Pepper, once again, broke. “There’s something Tony and I wanted to check with you,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow, my heart immediately racing. Had I done something wrong? Did they want me to go to _therapy_? Did they—

“May and I were talking the other day, and we thought that, seeing as Peter’s been over so often and we’ve all spent so much time together…,” she paused, as she navigated the parking spot.

My heart calmed. This was about Peter, not me, then?

“Well, we were wondering if you would be okay if we put Tony and I down as Peter’s secondary guardians. You know, if anything happens to May, God forbid, then Peter would come and live with us.”

Surprise coursed through me. “Yeah, of course. That would be fine.”

“Oh, good.” A smile melted onto Pepper’s face. “That’s great of you, sweetie. Of course, it probably won’t happen, but just in case it does, we would become his legal guardians, like I am for you.”

“You mean adoption?”

Pepper frowned. “No, honey. Not adoption. We never—I’m just a legal guardian. It’s not exactly the same thing. I thought you knew that.”

My heart seemed to stop now. It made no difference, I knew. Whatever Pepper and I had, it wouldn’t change just because some document didn’t say exactly what I thought it did, but—still. Disappointment pooled in my stomach. I tried to make sure it didn’t show on my face.

“Oh, okay,” I said. “No, I didn’t know that, but it’s fine. Yeah, sure, put in May’s will or whatever.” I unclipped my seat belt and slid out of the car, thoughts spinning through my head. I’d always thought that I was Pepper’s daughter. Not biologically, of course, but at least legally. But not even that was apparently true.

I waited for Pepper to be ready to walk over, just to make sure that she wouldn’t notice I was upset. I wanted to think about this before I discussed it with anyone, even Peter, and I definitely didn’t want to be answering her questions now.

As we walked across the parking lot, she made mundane comments on the number of families, and the music that was drifting out from the gym. People kept sending funny looks in my direction, especially once we were inside, and whispering behind cupped hands. For once, it was me they were looking at rather than Pepper, and I wondered whether I should have brought Tony along, just so I didn’t have to weather the spotlight alone.

“They’re all looking at me,” I murmured to Pepper as she snagged a glass of red wine from a table.

“Of course they are; everyone’s saying you saved the school on Monday, honey,” she answered, sipping her wine. “But if you’re uncomfortable, we can go…”

I shook my head. “It’s fine,” I said. “It’s like back when I was new again, though. Let’s just sit down. I think the assembly starts in a few minutes.”

With Peter and May nowhere to be seen, we found some seats at the bottom corner of the bleachers were they could just slip on if they were late. I caught glimpses of Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds through the crowds—the latter waved at me, and I waved back—craning their necks to see over the crowds. Clearly they were looking for Peter, as well.

Teachers and the principal were winding through the crowds as well, shaking hands and talking very seriously about things I couldn’t hear from this far away. The teachers also sat among the crowd, though, and soon it was just the Principal and Vice in the middle of the gym, where a mic stood on a black, temporary stage. To the left of the Principal was a table covered in flowers and photos, presumably of the cafeteria cook who had been shot.

I glanced down, my throat suddenly tight. Pepper rubbed my thigh, but it didn’t help much.

“Good evening, Midtown High students and families,” Principal Morita said once the whispers and natters had died down. “Thank you very much for coming today. On behalf of the school faculty, I’d like to apologise for the breach of safety and the events which took place on Monday. I hope it will make you all feel safer to know that the security will be increased, including extra guards, metal detectors, and police patrols. There will also be therapy dogs and counsellors on hand over the next few months to help ease the students back into school life after such a traumatic event.”

There was a pause, as if he was waiting for applause, but none came. The tone of the event was already messed up—who offered wine during what was, essentially, a memorial?—and I could bet that applause would make it seem more like a talent show than a sombre, serious evening.

“As most of you will know, we lost a member of the school team on Monday: Janet Redman, a chef who had worked at the school for fifteen years. Janet had two sisters, and was born here, in Manhattan. She stood up to the active shooters with resolve and moral strength, and though she payed dearly for it, we will all remember her. She has been a source of brightness and kindness here at Midtown, and will be sorely missed. Let us a hold a minute’s silence for Janet.”

The room fell silent, the only noises being shuffling feet and heavy sighs. I couldn’t quite bear to think about the woman I had failed to save, so instead I turned my head just a little and watched the faces of those around us. _At least she didn’t have kids_ , was the only thing I could think, but that didn’t make it much better. She had sisters. That was enough. They would be grieving her right now. And if I’d done my job a little better, they might not have to be grieving at all.

The minute passed and the Principal stepped back to the mic. “Otherwise, Ray MacCallum is sadly in a coma, in hospital, but is expected to wake up and heal well, so we can look for him back at school within the next few months. Several other students are also in hospital with minor injuries, but will be back next—”

The door swung open with a squeak and Peter shuffled in, his cheeks pink. And then— _oh my frigging god_ —stepped in Tony, wearing a suit and tie. He at least had the sense to look ashamed at being late, and they hurried to the empty spaces next to us, but that didn’t stop whispers from breaking out in the group. “Oh, my god,” said the girl behind me, “That’s Tony fucking Stark.”

I pushed back against the urge to say, _I didn’t know his middle name was ‘Fucking’,_ and instead glared at my dad. “ _Where’s May?_ ” I hissed at Peter once he was settled next to me.

He shrugged, and copied my whisper. “ _Extra shift at the hospital. Last minute. She couldn’t get out of it. Tony said he’d bring me, instead_.

I sighed roughly. Typical. Although I _had_ been wondering whether it would be good if Tony came, so maybe this was payback.

“ _Also, do you wanna come to a sleepover at mine on Friday? Ned and Mj are coming._ ”

“ _Busy,_ ” I replied in the same low tones. “ _I’m going to the gym Saturday night.”_ I wasn’t. I was going to carry on working on my suit and then go snooping for the Mandarin. But I wasn’t about to tell Peter that, despite the disappointed frown he sent me.

The Principal kept glancing in our direction as he stepped back up to the mic. I almost felt bad for him, having to give a speech in front of Tony Stark. “A-anyway,” he stuttered, “As I was saying, several other students will be back next week, though they are in hospital at the moment. As terrible as our loss is, we are comparatively lucky, and we should each try to appreciate the actions of the police and Federal Bureau that helped to save our children. Furthermore, a police statement read, ‘Casualties were low, despite the bomb and four gunmen. In an active shooter situation, the NYPD recommends trying to run or hide, rather than to fight back. In this situation, it is evident that members inside the school fought back against the hostiles, and while we cannot condone the actions taken, the casualties would likely have been much higher if not for the actions of a particular, unnamed individual.’”

Peter nudged me, and I could almost feel the burning of eyes against my back. I gave him a look, and he just nudged a smile before looking back at the stage. I was _almost_ proud. I had saved lives. Even the police agreed. But there was still some part in me that said I should have saved _more._

Morita went on to talk about the facilities and damage taken, and how students would be eating in their classrooms or outside until a new dining room could be built in the old gym, but I zoned out, focussing instead on Peter and Pepper beside me, and Tony close by. My hands had started sweating at the mention of the broken cafeteria, and my heart was beating faster.

 _There’s no need to be afraid,_ I reminded myself. _Literally four superheroes here._

My pulse didn’t fall back to near normal until I thought, _And if anything happens, you can just teleport everyone out of here._

 

####

 

After the assembly, we were free to wander the halls of the main building. Peter grabbed my wrist and made a beeline for Ned and MJ, both here with someone I assumed was Ned’s dad, Michael, and I followed. As a group—Pepper chatting to Ned’s dad while Tony occasionally said something weird that was met with silence and then a change of topic; and the four of us, trailing behind—we started touring the school. Every now and then Pepper or Tony would glance back at me, or Peter would say under his breath, “Are you okay?” and it made me seriously regret my little meltdown that morning. As nice as it was, I kinda just wished they’d either talk to me straight out about it, or forget it.

Even worse, I thought Peter had told Ned not to be weird around me, because he’d just stopped saying anything to me at all. Instead, he and Peter were off on some long-winded rant about which Indiana Jones film was the best.

Which left me and MJ.

Which was difficult because, as much as I liked the girl, we didn’t really _know_ each other.

“I bought that book you were reading a few weeks ago,” she said, once Peter and Ned had fallen behind us.

“Oh, yeah?” I said. I couldn’t really remember which one; I thought it was something about the effect of slavery on modern day black families. Politics was a bit of a hobby of mine. I didn’t want to just be the science girl, or ‘Tony Stark’s daughter who isn’t even as good at engineering as him’. But I went to a STEM school, which didn’t leave much in the way of politics. And so I read books. “What did you think?”

“I’m only half-way through,” MJ replied, “But it’s pretty good. Not much I don’t already know, of course, but it’s well written. Interesting.”

I hummed in response and we fell back into silence.

“So,” MJ said. “You doing anything interesting this Saturday?”

“Babysitting,” I replied immediately. “For my little sister.” I wasn’t. But I couldn’t exactly tell MJ that I was stalking a terrorist group, could I?

“Oh, really,” MJ replied. “Not going to the gym like you told Peter earlier?”

My eyes widened and I automatically glanced back, to be met with the sight of Peter still furiously describing an Indiana Jones move. So he hadn’t heard.

I turned back to MJ, trying to effect nonchalance. “Might do,” I said. “Haven’t really decided yet. How did you even hear that?”

“I have good hearing. And you guys aren’t as good at whispering as you think you are. What are you _really_ doing this weekend?” she continued.

I gave her a sideways look. “Don’t know yet. I just didn’t want to come to Peter’s sleepover.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s not it, seeing as he told me to be nice to you because you wanted to sit with us at lunch,” she carried on. We were rounding the corner towards the chemistry labs and I furiously wanted to be somewhere else.

“You know, MJ, I think I liked you better when you were reading.” I scanned the corridor. Ahead of us, Pepper sent another glance back at me and I pretended I didn’t see. I had to rub my palms against my jeans to stop the sweat from pooling.

“If you’re not telling Peter then it must be dangerous. It’s not just that you’re not close, seeing as he spent the last five days at your house and I’m pretty sure you guys slept together.”

“What?” My head whipped round towards MJ. “That’s not true. We didn’t—we just fell asleep in the same bed, that’s all. It’s not like we actually—”

“That’s even worse,” Michelle replied. “You’re soppier than I thought you were. But anyway, it’s gotta be dangerous. Which means—oh my god, Olivia—are you going after the people that _kidnapped_ you?”

I grabbed MJ and pulled her into another corridor. The boys didn’t even notice, just walked right past where we’d been as if we were acting completely normal. “No, MJ, I am _not_ going after my kidnappers. And you have to be quiet! Peter will hear you!”

She looked bored, despite the fact I was pressing her against a wall and gripping her arms. “I don’t think so. He’s about as observant as a bread stick.”

“I _like_ breadsticks, thank you very much—and besides, he might pick now to listen. Which means you have to be quiet.”

“I’ll be quiet—I won’t mention it to him at all, or even hint—as long as you let me come with you on Saturday.”

I stared at her. “Are you _crazy_ , girl? No! Absolutely not! It’s dangerous!”

“All the more reason I should come. You could get hurt.”

“Or _you_ could get hurt.”

I groaned in frustration and peeked around into the other corridor. They hadn’t noticed we were gone yet, but they would in a second, and they’d know something was up. Which meant I had to finish this conversation soon and get back to the group. “Fine,” I snapped. “But you’re not coming with me physically. You can be nearby on comms, and that’s my final offer.”

MJ hesitated. She probably knew that she could, technically, demand anything and I would say yes. It actually made me like her a lot more that she’d asked for this, rather than money or a meet-and-greet with an Avenger. But even if she _did_ ask for more, I’d just take her with me and then teleport her to halfway across the city at the last second to give me some time to snoop.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Deal. But if you try and get out of it, I _will_ tell Peter where you’ve gone, and then _he’ll_ be able to protect you.”

I rolled my eyes and dragged her back out into the corridor. “Fine. Whatever.”

We rejoined the boys just as Ned turned to us and said, “MJ! Olivia! You’re honest; tell us who’s better, Captain Jack Sparrow, or Indiana Jones.”

“Jones, obviously,” she said, glaring at him. “He’s got the same last name as me.”

“Seconded,” I said, “Besides, he’s got a cooler hat.”

Ned’s face fell and Peter let out a peal of laughter. “I win!” he crowed, and Ned thumped him on the arm.

It wasn’t until the conversation had moved onto Star Wars—without Peter even stiffening—that I looked around and realised that we were way past the Chemistry block and the stairwell where I’d crawled into the ceiling, and I hadn’t had a panic attack at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: sneaking into a Mandarin base  
> soon: a blizzard, a sleepover, and some good conversations!


	28. Snooping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your lovely comments/kudos/bookmarksl they are what keep me going! I look forward to more and please don't be shy to give your own thoughts or suggestions. Enjoy!

Having teleported straight back from school, I’d been in bed before Pepper or Tony had got back, mostly to avoid awkward conversations with them. But when I woke, the alarm going off at half six, I woke with a renewed sense of purpose. I hadn’t had a panic attack at the school, despite walking the very corridors above which I’d crawled in the ceiling. Which meant that, hopefully, the panic attack at the paintball ground had been a fluke. Shuri took me by surprise. I was shaken and on alert. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen again. And so, I wasn’t crazy, and I wouldn’t become the laughing stock of the school by having a breakdown next time Brad came and talked to me.

Well. It was Brad. Who knew, I might have a breakdown that was entirely unrelated to the attack if _he_ tried to talk to me.

I showered and dressed in a rush, wearing converse, flared striped trousers, a tank-top and a denim jacket, and grabbed a mini pile of breakfast bars before teleporting into the girls’ locker rooms. As rank as it was, it was the place most likely to be empty, and I didn’t particularly want people figuring out my talents.

On the first try, it didn’t work. Panic flared in my stomach that the powers were gone, that I was left alone, that I would be stuck with no escape next time something happened, and I squeezed my eyes tighter. _Smell of gym socks. Morning light coming from only one tiny window in the top right corner. Lost clothes piles everywhere._

The smell hit me, even worse than in my mind, and I opened my eyes. _Thank god._ I hadn’t lost it. And judging by the still-vibrant blue glow of my skin, I wouldn’t be losing it any time soon.

I had to wait three minutes for it to fade before setting off to class.

The lessons were just as boring as always, but I did actually _try_ to pay attention. The facts in American History, AP Physics, Spanish—I added them to my mind and wrote the notes, but what I wanted was a good discussion. And, having spent five days straight with Peter, I actually properly missed him. For the first time, I wished we were in the same year group.

And then lunch rolled around, quicker than I thought possible, and my phone pinged. _Meet by football field for lunch? I’m under the bleachers,_ Peter had said.

I texted back a quick, _Be there in a min,_ and set off. For some stupid, ridiculous reason, there was a ball of nerves growing in my stomach. _It’s just Peter_ , I told myself. _Just Peter._

But the truth was: it wasn’t just Peter. It was Ned and MJ, too, and I actually did want them to like me. MJ had already threatened me into spending Saturday with her, so maybe that wasn’t a problem, but I really hoped that Ned was talking to me again. I wanted to nerd-out with him over Star Wars or whatever. He had seemed either terrified or awed by me every time I’d seen him, and that wasn’t really what I wanted.

And there was another little matter, too. The fact that I was actually starting to feel bad for how I’d treated Peter over the last few weeks. Always, actually. When Dad had first started bringing him over, for movie nights and lab time and barbecues, I’d been jealous. So I just hadn’t spoken to him, even when he’d been nothing but kind and enthusiastic. And then over the last few weeks, he’d again been nothing but kind and enthusiastic, and tried to help me by getting me friends, and I’d got mad at him and basically told him to fuck off.

Gold star.

And then, even worse, he’d risked his life to save me from the Mandarin, and I’d then refused to talk to him about it and kept disappearing on him. I was a pretty shitty friend.

I ducked out of the main building and walked towards the football field with the bleachers on the left. There was a figure sat beneath with his backpack slumped on the ground beside him, but no MJ or Ned.

I approached him, not really knowing how to say what I wanted to say, and so instead just asked, “Where are the others?”

He glanced upwards, and I saw disappointment—hurt?—in his eyes. “Coming. They had Lit.”

I nodded in understanding and sat beside him, pulling my backpack off. Lit was on the other side of the school, and the teacher sometimes made you walk even further to the other side of the lacrosse field for ‘nature lessons’ that were basically just lessons where you sat on the grass and paid less attention because it was impossible to write without a desk anyway.

I pulled my lunch from my bag and waited for Peter to bring it up. The elephant in the room. My disappearing act, which I’d pulled at the paintball and then again last night after the open house.

But he didn’t.

He just bit into his own sandwich, and said nothing.

Which meant that _I_ was going to have to say something. And the discomfort I felt at that, the surprise that Peter hadn’t immediately said the right thing, just proved to me how bad a friend I had been; this was my mistake. I had to apologise for it, not just wait for him to give me the easy way out.

“I’m really sorry, Peter,” I said, keeping my eyes on my food. After a second, when the rustle of paper stopped and I knew he was looking at me, I forced myself to look back at him. He looked surprised, caught halfway through a bite, with his eyes wide. “For how I’ve been acting. The last few days and also… before. I didn’t apologise properly. I know now that you were just trying to be nice to me and to stop me from making mistakes, and… you’re pretty much my best friend. So, thanks? And, yeah. Sorry. I was a dickhead.”

Immediately his eyes changed, almost lighting up, and he swallowed before saying, “It’s fine, Liv. I get it. I mean, yeah, you were kinda a dickhead, but don’t worry about it. And… I was just annoyed that you disappeared without speaking to me. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

I glanced back at my food and swallowed. “Yeah,” I said, “I know. I just… I didn’t really want to talk about it, or answer questions or anything, so…”

“Do you want to talk about it now?” he asked, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to—absolutely don’t feel like you have to now, you absolutely don’t—but just if you want to—”

The corner of my lip tweaked upwards at his words. For a sixteen year old genius, you’d think he’d be more eloquent. It was cute. And at some point I probably would take him up on his offer, but right at this moment I didn’t even know what I would say. About the kidnapping or the powers or the fact that Pepper hadn’t adopted me. It was all just a confusing mess of feelings. Besides, two figures were crossing the grass that I knew were Ned and MJ. “Not right now,” I said, cutting through Peter’s rambling. “But maybe at some point. Thanks for the offer.”

He smiled at me, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Yeah,” he said, and my breath caught. I knew I was staring, but so was he. Our gazes held for just a moment too long, his eyes sparkling, before we both looked back down.

“‘Sup, losers,” MJ said, her bag dropping to the ground beside me. “Nice of you to wait for us.”

Peter shrugged. “We were hungry. Besides, it’s not our fault you guys walk at the pace of snai—Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder where Ned had hit him with what looked like an extremely heavy backpack.

“What the hell, dude,” he complained as he sat down. “How come I have to hear from _my mother,_ who heard from _your aunt,_ that Tony Stark is now your secondary guardian. Huh? Isn’t that news that your best friend should know? I mean, it’s so cool! You might live with Iron Man! Don’t you—”

“ _Ned,”_ Peter said, his voice tight. His eyes were wide in warning, his head tilted towards me.

Ned glanced not so subtly in my direction, and his eyes doubled in size. “Oh,” he said. “I’m really sorry Olivia, I didn’t mean it to be weird—”

“It’s fine,” I cut him off with a smile and hoped it reached my eyes. “Honestly, I think it’s hilarious. Besides, I’d rather you guys were just honest around me.”

Ned looked back at Peter, and I didn’t miss the tiny shrug he gave in return. Ned looked back at me. “So, do you live with the Avengers, then?”

I laughed. “Not now.” Ned’s face fell, but In continued, “There isn’t really a centralised Avengers force now; everyone’s kinda scattered. Too many of them. But yeah, I used to. For, like, three years we spent half our time in the Tower and half at the compound and the Avengers were coming and going.”

Ned’s eyes widened even further. “That’s so cool!” he said. “What’s the stupidest thing any of them have ever done?”

I almost said _Breaking apart the team over one man_ , but held back. That wasn’t what he was really looking for, and besides: hadn’t I just decided that I understood Steve’s decision? “Clint,” I said after a moment of consideration. “You know, Hawkeye? Once he licked a frozen lamppost because he was making fun of Steve, because, you know, he was frozen for sixty years, and then he got stuck to it and we had to melt it with a blowtorch so he could get free. He spent thirty minutes in the middle of a street with his head turned sideways and his tongue stuck out of his mouth, licking a lamppost.”

Ned broke into stunned laughter, MJ snorted, and even Peter said, “I didn’t know that!”

I allowed myself a small grin. Maybe this friends thing was worth it, after all.

 

####

 

The tactical part of my suit was ready. I had copied Natasha’s 2018 suit, so it was fully black, all body armour that wouldn’t restrict my movement, as well as clips and loops for me to hang things off. I had even included weapons holsters, though I didn’t have any proper weapons.

My wings weren’t ready yet, either, so I took a knife from the kitchen and pushed it into a specially-made pocket against my thigh. My hair was tied back in a French braid, with the end tucked and pinned underneath. I wasn’t planning on getting into any fights; today was supposed to be about snooping only, but if I _did_ , I wasn’t going to leave anything for them to grab.

“Ready?” MJ asked over my comms.

“Ready,” I confirmed, pressing it more securely into my ear. “But I still think you should back out now.”

“Nope,” she said at the other end. “If we manage to catch them, it will be the most meaningful thing I’ve ever done. Besides, Peter would kill me if I let you go in on this alone.”

_That_ was fair enough. “Alright,” I said. “Let’s do this, then.”

Before she could ask me where I was, I squeezed my eyes shut and visualised myself in the street I’d chosen earlier. It was a back alley filled with trash bags and broken bottles with high blocks of flats on both sides. I’d checked it out on google street view and even sent a drone down there. I tried to imagine the smell of rotting trash and alcohol, and the shouts and sirens of the city.

And then I opened my eyes, and it was real. Not for the first time, I wondered what the limits of this were. Could I get to a different city? To a different country? Halfway across the world? What about to the moon or other planets? I hadn’t been there, and it would be pretty difficult to get a photo that would let me imagine it, but what if Carol brought me one?

Now wasn’t really the time.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m near the police station. Have you got what you need?”

“Yep,” she replied straight away. “You’ve got the memory stick?”

“Yeah.” I fingered it through my pocket. “And it can be _any_ computer?”

“As long as it’s on their server, that’s all I need,” she confirmed through the comms. “How are you planning on getting in?”

“Walking,” I replied, rounding the corner out of the alley and zipping a hoodie over the tac gear. It was actually kinda ridiculous, I realised, to have worn it. Here, I definitely wasn’t going to be fighting. But with the hoodie, it didn’t look too odd; just black combat-style pants and the pair of trainers I’d slipped on in lieu of the special boots that weren’t ready yet. “Unless you’d suggest something else. Skipping, perhaps? Rolling?”

MJ snorted. “How about shutting-the-fuck-up-and-letting-me-help-ing?”

“Fair enough,” I breathed, coming to a stop in front of the 42nd precinct’s doors. “Well, I’m going to walk in and ask to talk to a cop about a missing purse, and then attach the memory stick when I’m sitting by their desk. And then just bail; they won’t know enough about me to track me down, even if they do think something’s odd.”

“Smart,” she said.

“That’s me,” I replied. “Won’t be able to talk for a bit. Keep me updated.”

I ignored her confirmation and walked straight in through the revolving doors. The second floor was where the detectives were, so I ignored the cybercrime and drugs departments in favour of pushing straight through into the office area.

“Can I help you?” A cop immediately stepped forward with a badge and gun at his waist. I forced myself not to look at it. As good as a panic attack would be for my acting, I needed a clear head.

“Um, yeah,” I said, trying to look lost and worried. “My purse and phone went missing and I’m pretty worried because all my money’s there, and maybe it was stolen, but my parents—”

He sighed roughly. Clearly not the kind of case he’d been waiting for. Glancing around, his eyes settled on a man with a messy desk, his back turned towards us. “Why don’t you go and talk to Mr James over there, I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”

He disappeared before I could thank him—or probably, more specifically, before he could be roped into babysitting duty—so I made my way towards the messy desk. The more mess, the easier it would be to get the memory chip in without him noticing. Despite the myriad guns in the office, I was feeling pretty happy about this.

I settled in the chair next to the desk and he barely glanced up. “Um, hi,” I said, repeating my lost-and-worried voice. “I was wondering—”

He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “Olivia Stark!” he said, and I went still. “You’ve grown big!”

I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t even recognise him. But one thing was for sure.

_He_ knew who _I_ was.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun story: I was going to post this last night but I had such debilitating back pain that I physically couldn't lean far enough out of bed to reach my laptop. The only time I tried I ended up crying from trying to sit up and then I was dizzy and my vision was fuzzy. So yeah. You guys can have it now tho and I'll probably have another one up tonight. Enjoy!

“Um, hi,” I replied, my eyes frantically darting around the room. My hands were gripping the arms of the chair, ready to push off and run. If this was a trap then I could teleport away—but if it wasn’t and this was just a coincidence, then I couldn’t show my powers. How had they known I was going to be here, though?

“You’ve grown quite a bit since I last saw you,” the officer said.

My last bit of doubt disappeared, at least on one topic; I was confident now that he had actually met me before. He wasn’t just some random guy who’d watched me grow up in the papers and thought he knew me.

“Do I know you?” I asked, my eyes still examining the room for exits. There were four doors: one led to an office, a dead end; another to a corridor; the third back the way I’d come; the fourth onto a balcony-roof area. If I could get onto one of those, I could teleport away.

“Ah, you don’t remember me, do you,” he said, his voice weirdly friendly, and for the first time I actually focussed on him rather than the room or the danger. He was extremely average: dark hair, white complexion, heavily built. Not the kind of person you’d remember. “I knew you when you were a kid.”

My eyes widened. “When I was—a kid?” Like, a tiny kid? Before I’d come to Tony? But then why would he call me Olivia Stark and not Olivia Hansen, as I’d been known then?

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You were tiny! I was the police officer assigned to work with your social worker back when the Big Man adopted you. Obviously, there isn’t normally a police officer on every case, but given your situation, I stuck around. Iron Man! Wow! I still can’t believe I got to snoop around inside his house!”

I tried to hide my sigh. MJ in my ear was asking me what was going on, but hell if I knew. And I _really_ didn’t like how he was acting as if were best buddies. “Oh,” I said. I still wasn’t sure if there was a complete lack of danger, but at least I could be pretty sure he wasn’t working for the Mandarin and about to shoot me. At this point, the key was to keep him talking. “So, when did we last see each other?”

The console of his computer was on the other side of the desk, back to back with the next desk’s console. Which meant that _I_ had to be on the other side of the desk to get MJ’s hacking memory stick in. A plan started to form in my mind.

“Well, let’s see,” he said, his eyes roaming into the past. “You were probably seven years old? The social worker kept visiting until you were nine, but of course I got kicked off the case for selling your information to newspapers—”

My gaze snapped back to him. “For _what?”_

He grinned. “Oh, yeah, I was the main reason the newspapers knew you existed. I mean, they’d seen Tony out with a kid before but I gave them all the details. Nothing personal, of course! Just business; I needed the money cause my wife was getting surgery—”

“ _You_ sold my details to the newspapers?”

I had, of course, known that newspapers knew who I was. But I hadn’t exactly been old enough to care or understand that at the time. And Pepper and Tony had probably tried to shield me as much as possible. But it had been _this guy_ who’d sold me out? A cop?

“Yeah, hun, that was me. Sold it straight to the New York Times! ‘Course, you were living right in the middle of New York at the time, and everyone lapped it up. I got paid $25,000 for that story!”

I just stared at him while he nattered on about the surgery and how he’d become an internet sensation—until he’d gone to prison for two years. And now he was back, apparently, working as a desk cop.

_This_ was the man that had ruined my privacy? I had barely thought about it before; this had always been how life was for me, with people lurking around corners and trying to take photos of me. If they hadn’t found out from him, they would have from somebody else. But still, _this_ was the guy?

“Say,” I said, interrupting his flow of conversation. For a guy who was clearly so obsessed with fame, you’d think he’d talk less and listen more. Convenient for me. “You wouldn’t happen to have any photos of me back then? A case file, or anything? I’d love to see it.”

He started clicking on his computer, clearing windows and pulling others up. I stood, rounded the chair, peeked down at the computer while he found some file or other. I was ninety-nine percent sure that he shouldn’t be letting me see his case files, but he was clearly a bad cop and who was I to complain? I leaned down a little, bracing one hand on the back of his chair and the other onto the desk.

_But he would see it_ , I realised. Even if not the physical thing, he’d see the pop-up in the bottom corner that something was in the USB slot. Which meant I couldn’t do it to his computer. I had to do it to the one on the other side, which belonged to an empty desk with a turned off computer.

I edged my hand sideways. If someone saw me, they would know immediately what I was doing. I had to fight the urge to turn and glance all around me, but acting suspiciously would only draw attention. I made myself shuffle to the side, leaning all my weight on one side and hopefully hiding the memory stick and my movements.

“Ah, here it is!” he said, double clicking. A window popped up and I forced myself to look at it, my hand still creeping towards the USB port. “Olivia Hansen, adoption by Pepper Potts, currently resident in Stark Mansion, 10880 Malibu Point. Throwback, huh?”

I lifted my hand slightly upwards, my throat tight, and pressed the USB stick forwards. It scrabbled against the surface of the console before finally slipping in.

“Yeah, throwback,” I forced myself to say, relief spilling down my throat.

_“I’ve got—no, I haven’t got it,”_ MJ said down the comms. “ _I think the console isn’t turned on. Can you get it turned on?”_

My lips tightened, and that was my only answer. It wasn’t as if I could talk to her without this cop noticing. But now he was turning around, his head tilting to look at me.

“No photos?” I asked with a grin, and he turned momentarily to scroll down the document.

“Unfortunately not.” He returned the grin as if we knew each other. We didn’t. In fact, if I wanted I could probably get a restraining order on this guy.

But it was enough. That half-second turn was enough for me to press the on button on the console.

It took a second, the buzzing and whirring building, but MJ said, “ _Got it. Trojan’s in. You can get out of there for now.”_

“Anyway,” the man said, turning back towards me. I perched on the edge of my earlier chair. “What were you here for?”

“I lost my—oh, no!” I said, trying to fake a laugh and patting my non-existent pocket. “I was going to say I lost my purse, but it’s right in here! I’m so silly. Anyway, good catching up with you. Bye!”

I rushed out of the precinct before he could say anything else and ran back into the alleyway from earlier. “You’re in?” I asked, pressing my comms.

“ _Yeah, I’m in,_ ” she confirmed. “ _Give me two minutes and I’ll have this footage looped for you. What happened back there?”_

“Met the guy who sold my personal information to the New York Times when I was seven,” I summarised. “Kinda weird.”

“ _Very weird,”_ MJ returned. “ _Was he a cop? Damn, that’s enterprising. Remind me, why are we breaking into a police station?_ ”

“We’re not. _I_ am. _You’re_ just my technical advisor. And we’re doing this because we’re teenagers. No one is going to give me information on the Mandarin, so we’re going to have to take it ourselves. Which means looking at the police reports.”

_“For the record, I still think this is crazy.”_

“For the record, no one asked you to be here except you. You’re the one who cancelled your sleepover in favour of this.”

_“I didn’t cancel, actually. I’m just turning up late. I don’t like the prequel trilogy anyway.”_

“Oh, my god,” I said to myself. “You’re actually as much of a nerd as the other two are, aren’t you.”

_“Yep, which is lucky for you, because I just managed to loop the security footage in the evidence lockers, which means you can get in there without being seen.”_

I smiled. “Finally. Is anyone else in there?”

_“Nope. Completely empty. How are you planning on getting in there, anyway?”_

“Alright,” I said. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Can you send me a photo of the room?”

My phone pinged and I studied the photo. Tall stacks of boxes on shelves, narrow corridors, hospital lighting. Without even closing my eyes, the scenery changed, and I was between two of the high shelves.

_“Oh, my god,”_ MJ hissed. _“You just—how did you just—you just—”_

“I’ll explain later,” I whispered back, scanning the boxes. They were organised alphabetically, and I was facing G. I stepped sideways, past H I J K L—

M.

Mandarin.

I yanked the box out, flinching as it crashed against the floor. It was mostly empty, yet it had its own box. _Waiting for more?_ I wondered. I grabbed the first file I could see and pulled it open, barely scanning the documents looking for anything that might be useful.

_Aldrich Killian—Trevor Slattery—10 bombings—President Ellis—Anthony Stark—_

This was all stuff about the 2013 incidents. I dropped it back in the box and instead opted for the file at the opposite end of the box. Hopefully the most recent.

_Midtown Science and Tech—Olivia Maria Stark—New Haven, Connecticut—_

That was what I needed, I realised. Addresses. Not of the place I’d been held; I was pretty sure that had already been cleared out completely. But of suspected bases. Places that the police couldn’t get into, but I could.

_“Someone’s coming your way,”_ MJ spoke through the comms. _“You need to do your disappearing act.”_

Not yet. I just needed an address. Somewhere to start. I scanned the pages of the report but there was nothing—nothing that I could see. No zip code.

“Fuck it,” I whispered under my breath, and pulled out my phone.

_“You need to get out of there, Olivia! They’re only—”_

There was a squeaking like the door swinging open.

“Wait.” I snapped photos of the first ten pages of the report, stuffed it back in the box, and stuffed the box back on the shelf.

Footsteps.

I squeezed my eyes shut and just visualised my room. The most comfortable, normal place I could think of, that I was the most familiar with. The bed, the blue walls, the desk, the bookshelves—

And I was there.

_“They just missed you,”_ MJ said. “ _But for the record, you would have been arrested for breaking and entering. I told you this was a bad idea.”_

I let out a breathy laugh. “Noted.”

 

#####

 

“So, how do you do that?” MJ asked, studying me with appraisal.

I shrugged. “Scientifically, I’m not really sure. Practically, I was lying on top of part of an alien spaceship when it exploded.”

“When?”

“Recently. It was when I got… kidnapped.” I didn’t like that word. It made it sound like I’d been a six year old that followed a man because he promised me a lollipop.

“Oh.” MJ’s expression changed minutely. “So _that’s_ why you’re trying to find them again.”

“Actually,” I said, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. It didn’t look like a hacker’s lair, with ‘I have a dream’ bed sheets, pale cream walls, and bookshelves stacked high. Her computer and laptop both stood open on her desk with strings of code. “It’s not. They killed my mom. Back when I was little. There was this drug, an enhancement thing, but it was really dangerous and she tried to stop them from using it. They shot her. And then supposedly my dad managed to get rid of it properly, but it’s back. Which means I have to destroy it so my mom didn’t die for nothing.”

“So, she was a superhero.” MJ said. Not the usual ‘I’m so sorry’ but I preferred it. Or at least, I preferred it to what I’d seen in films; so few people knew who my mom was or what had happened that I didn’t hear condolences often.

I smiled a bit. “She was a scientist. But yes, I suppose she was a hero.”

MJ nodded, looking thoughtful. I wondered if any of her political books had anything to say about all that. “Check the photos, then. We need to find a lead.”

I smiled properly. Peter, Pepper, Tony—almost everyone would just have said it would dangerous and told me not to do it. But MJ seemed to understand what it meant to me. I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the pictures.

The first three pages had nothing but details of the incident and names of those captured, but on the fourth, a paragraph began with ‘Other suspected bases for this terrorist group are…’

My grip tightened on my phone. “I’ve found it.”

MJ rose from her desk chair and came to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder at the phone. “Where?”

I glanced up at her. “How would you feel about going to San Francisco?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: a blizzard and a sleepover


	30. Star Wars

“Hey, Peter. Hey, Ned.” I waved a little, leaning against the doorframe and hugging myself to keep warm. MJ and May were chatting about some Italian politician, and Peter and Ned were sitting by the TV with a massive pile of lego.

Peter turned. “Oh, hey, Olivia! Are you staying? You’re still welcome to stay!”

I shook my head. “Nah,” I said, “I’m just here to say hi. I was with MJ and we were walking in the same way so I just thought I’d pop in. But I’ll go now.”

“Oh.” Peter looked crestfallen. “Ned and me are building a lego Iron Man. You should join.”

I snorted and stepped a little closer to peer over the sofa. There was indeed a torso made of red and gold, with a mini blue arc reactor in the centre. “Nerds,” I said and retreated back to the doorway. I should have just teleported home, but I’d wanted the walk through the city. To think about what I would be doing the next day. And when Michelle invited me up to Peter’s apartment where she was spending the night, I had figured why not?

But now I realised that, for every part of me that did actually want to stay and have a nice night with my friends, another part of me was stressing about what that would entail. Despite the number of times I’d been to May’s apartment in the five year gap, I’d never spent the night here. I’d never had a sleepover at a friend’s house. Yeah, I’d stayed away from my family; I’d spent nights with the Bartons when Tony and Pepper were both on business, I’d stayed with Nat and Bruce and even Steve once or twice, but I’d never had a sleepover with a friend. And I didn’t really know how to do it.

Besides, the streets had been so damn cold that I was half wishing I had just teleported straight home anyway.

May flashed me a smile from the other side of the room where she was bustling about putting pizzas and fries on trays, but she was still caught up in the conversation about that Italian politician’s scandal with MJ. And Ned had just asked Peter something—whether it was true that the Iron Man suit was nanotech now—so I slipped backwards, ready to let the door fall shut.

It clicked, and I turned back towards the stairs. There was a feeling in my throat, as if someone had taken part of my stomach and shoved it upwards, impeding my breathing. It was stupid. So stupid. I didn’t even know what I was upset about; he’d asked me to join, and _I_ was the one who had said no. And here I was getting testy about it.

I skipped down the first flight of stairs barely seeing where I was going. Of _course_ Peter would want to spend time with his other friends. If I even counted as a friend. They’d known each other for years—and then I had turned up. I was younger than them, not even in the same year group, and to be fair I had pretty much been a jerk towards Peter.

I reached the lobby and pushed open the door. Peter deserved time away from me. I couldn’t follow him around like a stray puppy. He’d already spent pretty much five days straight at my house. We’d even slept in the same bed twice. He obviously needed space, and I did too. Besides, I had to plan the San Francisco—

Something wet landed on my nose.

I glanced upwards and frowned in disbelief. It was _snowing_. The sky was grey, tiny flakes falling at an alarming rate. There was already a white coat on the ground, patchy in places but impressive considering it had only been five minutes or so since we’d started the trek up the stairs.

Yes, I was definitely going to be teleporting home.

I wandered back in the lobby and found a dark corner. Shutting my eyes, the image of a trio of sofas and a wide screen TV in front of a wall of windows already etched into my brain like the speed-dial version of teleporting. Except, I realised before disappearing, I was wearing MJ’s clothes, which I’d changed into instead of my suit. And that would definitely get some questions. Better to be in my bedroom, where I could get changed before revealing myself to the family.

I started to replace the image in my head with my bed, my desk, and—

“Olivia!”

I opened my eyes. Ned was standing on the stairs, twisted over the banister towards me. “Aunt May says she’s fine with you staying the night since you shouldn’t walk home in the snow.”

I opened my mouth to protest before realising that Ned didn’t know about my powers. Peter had been there when I’d woken up in the hospital, May had been right outside, and MJ knew from this morning’s mission, but Ned had no idea. And though he’d managed to keep Peter’s secret, I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to let him in on mine. He was just such a chatterbox.

“My dad’s sending a car for me,” I said instead, the lie falling easily from my lips.

Ned progressed to the bottom of the stairs, concern filling his features. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said, before stammering to continue. “I mean—I mean, I know your dad is super smart and it’s not like he makes mistakes, but—I just think—the weather guy says its a proper blizzard. And there’ll be low visibility and everything, so—and we’d love to have you—we don’t bite or anything—”

“It’s fine, Ned, really. I’ll get him to send me a suit.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Like, an Iron Man suit?”

I smiled despite myself. He was so damn enthusiastic, like Peter but on crack. “Yeah, like an Iron Man suit. I’ll just text him now.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent the text, cursing the fact that Ned didn’t know about my powers. It would be so much more convenient to just teleport home. No fuss at all. The Iron Man suit would do, though I realised that they might see me in MJ’s clothes. I could just say that I’d spilled something on myself, though.

 _Nope,_ Tony replied within seconds. _You’re staying there. You need to get out of the house more. Have fun!_

Now it was Tony I was cursing.

“What is it?” Ned asked, coming to stand next to me.

“He won’t send me a suit,” I said, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Says I need to ‘get out more’.”

Ned frowned a little. “Is that so bad?”

I looked at him. “No, it’s not that,” I said, trying to search for an excuse. If I hadn’t told him that Tony wasn’t sending a suit, I could have just gone outside and teleported back home. But now he knew. “I just… you guys probably want to spend some time with each other, right, rather than me?”

“No! I know Peter loves having you around!” A half-grin crossed his face and I narrowed my eyes. The way he said it—as if he knew something more—made me think he wasn’t being serious, but he continued, “And of course me and MJ also would think it was great if you stayed. Besides, if you were just spending the day with MJ then you guys must be pretty close, huh? Come on up.”

He started back up the stairs and I groaned, looking around. Did I even have a choice? I couldn’t leave because he knew already that Tony wasn’t sending a suit, and he couldn’t know about my powers. And, glancing outside, I saw that three inches of snow had fallen already and you could barely see three metres. He’d never let me walk home in that, even if Peter, MJ, and May already knew that I wasn’t walking.

“Fine,” I said, trudging up the stairs after him. “But I don’t have any clothes. Or a toothbrush. Or anything.”

“You can borrow clothes and I’m sure they have spare toothbrushes and—”

He swung the door open and the smell of pizza wafted out. My mouth was watering like hell. I’d grabbed an apple at MJ’s house, but she hadn’t wanted to sit and eat dinner with her parents so that had been it. The last I’d eaten properly had been a sandwich at one, and now it was seven or so.

Plates of pizza were everywhere: on the coffee table, on the floor, on the sofa next to where MJ was sitting, upside-down with her legs cast over the back of the sofa, discussing a Math assignment with Peter, who was sitting still by the lego. His eyes darted towards us as we walked back in, though his flow of mathsy words didn’t halt. The slightest smile crossed his lips, and it made me feel a tiny bit better. Maybe he actually didn’t mind having me here. And other than lunch time, we’d barely seen each other over the past two days.

I settled down next to Peter and May reappeared with her face hidden behind a massive heap of duvets, blankets and pillows. “Here you go, kids,” she said, breaking off Peter’s description of a geometry question. “I’m going to bed, because all you lot at once are too much to deal with, but make sure you’re not up too late and there’s two more pizzas in the oven to come out in ten minutes.” She smiled brightly and caught sight of me. “Oh, brilliant, you’re staying!” she exclaimed. “I’ll text your mom to let her know. Put in more pizzas, if you want, and feel free to come and borrow anything.”

She disappeared and I surveyed the surroundings. At least five pizzas were on the tables around us with two more in the oven. How could we want _more_ pizzas?

I tried to think of that rather than the fact that she’d said ‘mom’ when Pepper wasn’t my mom, biologically _or_ legally because despite what I’d thought, she hadn’t adopted me.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Peter asked, his knee brushing mine as he turned away from MJ, having finished the description.

“Oh, nothing,” I said with a fleeting smile. “That’s a lot of pizza, by the way.”

“Yeah, I eat a lot,” he replied. “Heightened metabolism, and all. And MJ will eat at least two pizzas by herself. I thought you were going to the gym, anyway?”

Ah, yes. The lie I’d made up, thinking that I’d still be snooping at this time of day. I hardly ever went to the gym, but he’d believed it, clearly. I glanced back and saw that Ned was at the fridge getting himself a glass of juice. “I decided not to, ‘cause of the snow. And I couldn’t teleport home, because Ned came and found me and told me I couldn’t walk home in this weather, and I didn’t want to tell him about you-know-what, so…” I drifted off, but Peter clearly understood.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards once more, though it couldn’t be called a full blown smile. “Well,” he said, his gaze downwards at the pile of DVDs in front of him. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

His eyes flashed to mine and butterflies erupted in my stomach. _Fuck off_ , I wanted to tell them, but I was too busy realising that Peter’s eyes were entirely, one hundred per cent brown, like milk chocolate, like sunset through whiskey. I swallowed, feeling myself warm under his gaze.

And a pillow hit me right around the head and I reached back to grab it automatically. I yanked it out of MJ’s hands and glared at her. She had moved from sitting upside-down with her legs hanging over the back of the sofa, to being spread across the whole sofa, sideways.”Can we please get on and watch something, rather than you two just staring at each other? Because honestly, it’s making me feel sick.”

I felt myself blush, a different blush to the one Peter had induced, but turned back to the pile of DVDs in front of Peter. “I vote for Force Awakens. I know we won’t get through all of them and that’s the best—”

“We _will_ get through all of them!” Ned sounded extremely offended, so I threw my hands up and accepted defeat.

“Fine, start from the beginning then. But I don’t think you’ll manage to stay awake.”


	31. fire escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was pretty easy to write (even if it took a long-ass time) and I actually really like this chapter? I hope you do too?

What little light there was in the room was blue, filtered through the still-falling snow and the thin living-room curtains. The entire city was silent, the hubbub and mayhem stopped for once. Though it was April, the snowstorm had been big enough to halt the traffic.

MJ had retreated to Peter’s bedroom after the original trilogy, and had fallen asleep hours ago. Peter had started snoring during the only bit of episode one that could be described as vaguely decent (the final battle), with his head fallen back against the sofa, a massive pile of duvets and blankets heaped upon him. Ned had insisted that we battle onwards, and then had fallen asleep on the sofa during Attack of the Clones.

Which left me. The TV was on low volume. I’d turned it down after Peter had fallen asleep, and then again after Ned. In any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have been able to hear at all, but with the city as silent as New York was tonight, I could hear every word. A few pieces of cold pizza lay on the coffee table, though Peter had been right. MJ had eaten two by herself, Peter almost, and Ned and I had each had one.

My back was pressed against the sofa, the edge softened by the duvet I’d wrapped around myself. Besides MJ’s jeans and olive green hoodie, Peter had disappeared halfway through episode four and returned with a pair of May’s fluffy socks, which I’d tugged on over the ankle socks, but I was still chilly.

I couldn’t sleep. For one, no matter how tired I was, I could never fall asleep during films. Even ones as bad as the prequel trilogy. But more than that, I didn’t want to miss my opportunity of just listening to the silence. It was as if I was at the lake house again. The house I loved the most, of all that Pepper and Tony and I had lived at. It had always felt private. Normal. Like any family could live there. Yeah, sure, aliens had landed at least twice a year in our back garden so that Nebula could catch up with her practically surrogate father, and every now and then a super assassin visited, and Morgan was told stories of her brother, Spider-Man, but it wasn’t as if ‘Stark’ was written on the outside of the building. It wasn’t like, two floors down, scientists that I had never met were blowing things up for fun. Nothing had ever blown up at the lake house other than my semi-failed experiments.

It was a _normal_ house for a _normal_ family.

And despite the fact that May and Peter weren’t related by blood, so was this apartment.

Peter stirred beside me, pushing himself upwards before his eyes were even fully open. “Ugh,” he said, rubbing his neck as he blinked. “Slept funny. Sore neck.”

I fought back a snort. “You’re smart, aren’t you.”

He shuffled his butt back and sat up straighter, pulling his inordinate amount of blankets closer. “Don’t be mean. What time is it, anyway?”

I checked my watch. “Three thirty in the morning.”

“Well, obviously,” Peter grumbled. “‘Snot gonna be the afternoon, ‘sit.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Somebody’s grumpy.”

His face fell into his hands and he let out a rough sigh. I was half worried he’d wake Ned, but then again, wasn’t Ned exactly the kind of person who could sleep through anything? “Sorry,” Peter groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Tired.”

“It’s fine.” I reached for the plate on the coffee table and offered it to Peter. “Pizza?”

He wrinkled his nose at it. “Not in the mood,” he said, despite the fact that he had eaten almost three whole ones only a few hours earlier. Then again, he remained slim and lithe, so perhaps his metabolism really was fast enough to warrant that. “Might make hot chocolate. D’you want some?”

“Sure.”

He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to me. I accepted, letting him pull me upwards. His fingers were icy cold, and I shivered. As he disappeared towards the kitchen area, I grabbed a blanket and a duvet and wrapped them both around my shoulders. I hadn’t realised before because he’d been piled in blankets, but Peter was wearing a hello kitty pyjama top with checkered pyjama trousers.

I’d always thought that guys wearing pyjamas was a weird mix of cute and hot, and Peter only confirmed my suspicions.

I frowned and pushed the thought away. If it was physically possible to slap a thought of my head, I would have done it. I didn’t like Peter. I’d had a phase, back at the end of middle school, where I liked any boy that would talk to me. Most were too scared, so when one finally did hold a conversation with me, I’d end up crushing on him for weeks. But that didn’t mean I actually would have ‘dated’ him, even in middle school terms. This was just the same thing. I liked Peter as a friend. We’d spent a lot of time together recently. It figured that I’d end up with a weird thought or two, but it didn’t mean I actually liked him.

I forced myself not to think of MJ’s comment earlier.

Peter handed me a mug and pulled me out of my revery. His hair was tousled, his eyes still filled with sleep. “Why are you awake?” he asked under his breath before taking a sip of his own hot chocolate.

I shrugged. “Just thinking,” I replied.

“‘bout what?”

Behind me, there was a groan. I looked back at where Ned was lying just in time to see him roll over, his arm falling off the side of the sofa. “Don’t want to wake him up,” I whispered back to Peter. He glanced at his friend, then through the window, and motioned for me to follow him. He took me down the corridor, towards the bedrooms. I wondered if we were going to his room, before remembering that MJ was in there. He passed straight by it, and May’s room before coming to a stop outside a third door. I hadn’t been in there.

He twisted the door knob with his free hand and pushed the door open. Inside was a tiny room with a desk that was mostly empty. Only a single model airplane sat upon it. There were shelves, as well, stacked with boxes and books and files. The room was marginally smaller than the bathroom that was the fourth room off the corridor.

“Ben’s office,” Peter whispered as he clicked the door shut behind us. Ben’s office. I wondered how often Peter came in here. Was the model plane a remnant of Ben’s days in the apartment, or had Peter completed it himself? There was only one chair behind the desk, as well as one exercise bouncy ball thing, but Peter set his mug down on the desk and went to the window, pushing it open with a scrape.

The blue moonlight that filled the living room also shone upon a metal fire escape platform made of slats. It was tiny, perhaps the width of a single bed and three-quarters the length, but Peter helped me up onto it. The duvet and blanket around my shoulders made me significantly more bulky than I should have been. I stretched the blanket across the platform and waited until Peter was sitting pressed up beside me, his back against the now-closed window before tucking the duvet around the both of us. He handed me my hot chocolate and I sipped, relishing the warmth that bloomed inside.

The view from the fire escape looked down upon an ordinary street. Apartment blocks stood tall along the road, cars lined the street. Lights were on in one of the windows, and I half-heartedly wondered whether it was late night work or something a little more racy that kept the inhabitant up, but most parts of my mind that were still functioning at this late hour were focussed on the fact that Peter’s body was pressed up against mine, his thigh against my thigh, his arm against my arm.

“Do you come up here often?” I asked, just to get my mind off it. It didn’t mean anything to Peter. We were just pressed for space on the fire escape. And therefore it shouldn’t mean anything to me.

“Not really,” he replied, his voice still as soft in the cold night air as it had been in the living room. “I wish I did more, because it’s so peaceful, but… I’m just kinda busy, you know.”

I didn’t reply, but I understood. Moments like these, of chilled breath and slow heartbeats and warm bodies, were snatches of air in the drowning havoc of everyday life. Sometimes you just didn’t have time for them. Like how, despite the fact that Tony and Pepper had promised a return to the lake house every other weekend, something had always got in the way.

My mind turned back to the room behind us. Ben’s office. He barely ever spoke of his uncle. Technically, I supposed, he had been gone for eight years now. But for Peter it was only three.

“Do you miss him?” I asked, before I had the presence of mind to consider whether that was an okay question to ask. “Uncle Ben, I mean?”

I was pretty sure he didn’t need the clarification. But then, so many people around Peter had died that maybe it _was_ necessary, so I gave it anyway.

“Yeah,” he replied after another moment of stillness. “A lot. But less often than I used to. Sometimes I feel bad about it, you know, because I miss him more than I miss my real parents.”

“I don’t think you should feel bad about that,” I replied, watching as the snow fell lighter and lighter. “You knew him. But your parents died when you were so little that I imagine it’s more like missing an idea than actual people.”

He hummed, but fell silent for another beat. “What about you?” he said finally. “Do you miss your mom?”

I thought about it. “Yeah,” I said after a second of consideration. “Sometimes.” I was speaking from full honesty, saying the words as they came into my head. “But again, I was so little that I don’t even know what was real and what was just memories I made up, you know? And she was away so often, working so often, that sometimes I think she was more like an occasional babysitter than my mom. And even when she was there, she was never very loving or affectionate.”

The snow had stopped falling at all, though the temperature was still freezing. My cheekbones and nose were going numb.

“And besides, I have Pepper. She’s been there for so long and she’s so, _so_ reliable… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel guilty when I think of her as my mom, and I don’t even know what for. Whether I’m feeling bad for her or for Morgan or for my real mom….”

“I get it,” Peter said when I drifted off. “You feel bad because you think you’re forcing yourself into her life.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Exactly. And I know she only took legal guardianship of me because my Dad couldn’t. I don’t know whose life I messed up more when I appeared on his doorstep, his, or Pepper’s.”

“No,” said Peter, sounding mildly indignant. “They love you. You’re their kid.”

I almost laughed. “You know, legally, I’m not. Pepper didn’t adopt me. She ‘took legal guardianship’.”

“What?” Peter said.

“I know,” I replied. “All this time I thought that I was actually her kid, and I’ve always clung to it, you know? Like, I knew that she wasn’t really my mother, but I thought that—and I know it’s stupid, but—”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Peter, the first interruption in the silent, sleeping, soft night. His voice still held the same softness, though, despite the indignation. “I meant, what difference does it make? You’re still their kid. A piece of paper doesn’t change that. She looks at you the same way she looks at Morgan. She loves you the same way she loves Morgan.”

I let out a breath slowly. “Maybe,” I said. I didn’t know whether it was true or not, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to argue about. “It just feels different.”

“Then why don’t you ask them,” Peter said. “Mr Stark is different now. The courts will let him adopt you legally. I mean, he has another kid now, and she’s brilliant. They can’t exactly say no.”

“What, like ask him to adopt me?”

“And Pepper, too. If it bothers you this much, why don’t you just ask?”

The thought settled in me like a coin in a fountain. _Why didn’t I just ask?_ What could I lose, after all? I knew that the answers to that question could stretch to the ground, but I pushed them all away. “They love you, too, you know,” I said after a second, pushing away the wild fluctuation between hope and expected-disappointment that was running through me. “Like a son.”

I could almost feel Peter roll his eyes beside me. “Not really.”

“Yeah, they do. Why else do you think they agreed to be your secondary guardians, or whatever it’s called?”

“Well—” Peter struggled for an answer. “Maybe because—I’m Spider-Man, and—it would be useful to have me close by in case more aliens come?”

I actually did snort then. “Yeah, sure. I’m pretty sure no more aliens will be coming to attack the planet that _literally beat Thanos,_ but that sounds likely. No, Peter. They love you. Didn’t Tony call you his kid the other day?”

Peter didn’t answer that particular question. “Are you okay with it all?” he said after a minute, in a clear attempt to change the subject.

I let it slide. “Yeah, I’m honestly fine with it. It already feels like you’re part of our family, and why not in more ways than one?”

I saw his smile and ducked head in the corner of my eye. It was only if May died, anyway, which I was pretty sure none of us would let happen.

“I’m kinda cold,” I said, just to make sure Peter wouldn’t start in on the truly mushy stuff. And I was. My nose was properly numb, my hot chocolate was finished, and MJ’s hoodie wasn’t doing enough to stave the freezing temperatures away from me, even with the duvet’s help.

“Me, too,” Peter said, twisting to push up the window again. “Did you know that spiders can’t regulate their internal temperatures? So I can get really cold, really quickly.”

I frowned and pressed a hand to his bicep. I almost flinched back from the temperature. “Oh, my god, Peter!” I exclaimed, the closest either of us came to breaking the blanket of silence that settled with the snow. “You’re freezing!”

He shivered as he pulled me through the window. I dragged the blankets after me and wrapped them around him as he pushed the window back shut and locked it. “I’m gonna make more hot chocolate,” I said, and pushed him back through towards the kitchen.

He sat down on the second sofa, the cold making him compliant, and didn’t say another word until I pushed the mug back into his hands. “Thanks,” he said, taking a long sip before setting it on his knees and wrapping his hands around it. “Can you come… join?” He gestured to the blanket and duvets before I understood.

I lifted the rest of the pile on the floor and heaped it on top of us both. If he needed my body heat to warm him up, who was I to complain? I ignored the blush seeping through my cheeks, and the one that I thought I saw on Peter’s cheeks, and instead set my head on his shoulder.

I yelped under my breath when he wrapped a freezing arm around me. He grinned, his teeth shining in the blue light, and whispered, “Sorry,” but didn’t move his arm, only budging a little to set his mug on the coffee table before moving right back.

I didn’t mind.

We fell asleep like that, with his arm wrapped around me and my head on his shoulder and our legs pressed together, and even when it got uncomfortably warm, I didn’t want to move.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo I was really ill all yesterday and this morning so that's why I didn't get another chapter up. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one! Not that pleased with it, but more is coming tomorrow (probably) seeing as I hopefully won't be vomiting my guts up

I woke to the clatters and hisses of May making herself coffee. Rubbing my eyes as I pushed myself up to a sitting position, I saw MJ at the kitchen table with her own coffee, distinctly superior as she was already dressed and looked like she’d slept more than six hours in a real bed. I pulled my phone out from where it had fallen down the back of the cushion and saw that I had only slept five and a bit hours. It was nine, and my phone had about 3% battery.

At some point in the night, Peter and I had shifted from our original position so that we were both lying stretched across the couch. I was pretty much pressed against him all the way down and I was roasting, despite the pile of blankets having fallen onto the floor.

I lifted myself over him and replaced one of the blankets, before making my way to the kitchen table and sitting beside MJ.

“Good morning,” May said with her trademark sunny charm. “How did you sleep?”

MJ just gave me a look, and I was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that I’d practically been sleeping on top of Peter. When, really, it was nothing like _that_.

“Really well, thanks,” I said, running a hand through my hair and pulling it back into a ponytail. “Peter and I went out onto the fire escape after Ned fell asleep and then he was pretty much freezing, so I was just sitting by him so he would get warm and then we fell asleep.”

May raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure. We believe you.”

I sent a look back in her direction, marvelling that we were this comfortable around each other (but maybe MJ was like this with everyone?), and there was a groan behind me. I turned just as there was a thump and another, lower, groan. Though the back of the sofa was facing me and I couldn’t see anything before the coffee table, I was pretty sure I knew what happened.

“Did you just fall off the sofa?” MJ asked before I could.

“Yup,” came Peter’s voice from somewhere on the floor. He pushed himself into my view and I turned my gaze away before he could catch my eye. “Can we have waffles?”

A fourth voice piped up from the other couch and I realised that Ned was awake. “Pancakes,” he said, and Peter frowned down at him.

“You don’t even like—oh,” he cut himself off, his frown changing into a smirk. “He’s still asleep,” Peter said. “And I’m pretty sure he’s dreaming about pancakes.” He glanced up again, and I turned back to my coffee. “How’s the snow?” he asked and crossed to the window.

Peter pulled back the curtain and I saw a thick blanket of snow. Dark figures about twice the size of normal humans were crossing the streets with shovels, digging channels half a metre wide.

“Pretty good,” May mused, pulling out boxes of cereal and loaves of bread, seemingly ignoring Peter’s request for pancakes. “It’s supposed to snow later today as well, so if you guys wanna go sledging you should probably get out there this morning.”

“Wouldn’t you like to come, Aunt May?” I asked, sliding two halves of my bagel out of the toaster.

She gave me a grimace as she took a sip of her coffee. “Do I _look_ like the kind of person that wants to catch hypothermia from being outside in that snow for hours? No, you kids go ahead and I’ll have a nice time here by myself.” She was wearing a hoodie, and I was pretty sure I could see the edges of a chunky woollen cardigan underneath it. Yeah, not meant for the cold, clearly.

And despite the fact that I _loved_ the cold—I’d spent the first five years of my life in North Dakota, for god’s sake—I had things to be doing today. Like breaking into a secure terrorist base/facility in San Francisco.

“You know, I actually can’t come,” I said, the words practically falling from my lips. “I should get home. I don’t have any clothes, you know, and I’d—”

“You can borrow things,” May said, pressing the last corner of toast into her mouth.

“Oh, no, really, I couldn’t.” I made myself laugh, but it sounded stilted and fake.

“No, really—at least wear something to get home in, even if you won’t go sledging. Peter, give her some clothes. Yeah, go on, both of you.” She shooed both of us in the direction of his bedroom and I gave MJ a pleading glance, at which she smirked, before following Peter. At least he seemed equally hesitant. Maybe we could just write last night ( _What even was ‘last night’?)_ off as a mistake and go back to how it was _supposed_ to be.

Except I didn’t really know how it was supposed to be.

Before the snap, I’d pretty much ignored Peter. And ever since, we’d been at one extreme or the other. At first, he’d been stuck to my and Tony’s sides, his guilt complex for not being equally-hospitalised driving him to practically hospitalising himself. Then I’d been ignoring him. Then Skip Westcott had happened and I’d spent a weekend stuck to him. Then the kidnapping had happened and _he’d_ spent two days stuck to _me_. Then I’d freaked out and had avoided him, then I’d apologised and we were stuck back together.

And that was all in the space of a few months.

So I didn’t really know what ‘normal’ was.

He started pulling t-shirts and sweaters out of his cupboard and off the floor, and I noticed him kick a few items into corners of the laundry basket.

“Jeez, Peter,” I said, leaning with my arms crossed against the doorframe. “Why does it look like a bomb exploded in here?”

He gave me a look and I wondered if this could be—this might be—what normal meant, but then he hesitated for a second, clenched his fists, and let his hands fall to his sides. He turned towards me, though his eyes were fixed on the floor. “Look, Liv,” he said, and my chest tightened. When he started with ‘Look, Liv,’ it had to be bad. “I can tell something’s up, and if this is about last night, then I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have asked you to sit with me like that—and—”

“It’s fine, Peter,” I said, picking a random sweater off the bed. “Nothing’s up. I just need to get home.” I retreated backwards towards the door, keeping my eyes steady on his despite his gaze being fixed on the floor. _And_ despite the thousands thoughts running through my mind in fast-forward. “I have something already scheduled, and—”

“What?” Peter asked, his eyes flicking back up to mine. “What do you have scheduled?”

S _hit. Why did I say that?_ Well, I knew exactly why I had said that. I knew that I needed to give Peter a valid reason to not come with him, and it couldn’t involve Pepper or Tony or Morgan because that could be checked easily enough. And it couldn’t involve schoolwork, because they had implemented a no-homework policy for the next two weeks so students could ‘focus on healing their trauma’.

“A date,” I exclaimed. “With, uh, Brad. From school. You know?”

Peter frowned. “At, like, eleven?”

“Yeah,” I said, backing out of the door and pulling the sweater on over my hoodie. “Uh, see you around. Have fun! And, um, please don’t tell my parents!”

I rushed out of the door with a hurried ‘thank-you’ to May and didn’t even bother to get all the way to the bottom of the stairs before re-materialising in my bedroom.

_Oh, my fucking God._

Had I just made it better? Or had I made it a hundred times worse?

Footsteps pattered in the corridor and I pushed Peter and his problems out of my mind. I slid through the door and saw Morgan in her Spider-Man pyjamas pressing open the door to Pepper and Tony’s room.

“Hey, Mo-Mo,” I said, crouching to my little sister’s height just outside my door.

She turned, eyes wide, and ran into my arms. “Livvyyyaaa,” she stretched out my name, her tiny arms wrapping around my neck. “You were away last night! Mommy and Daddy said you were at Peter’s but you didn’t tell me you going to be at Peter’s and then you didn’t comed home and—”

“Yeah, I was at Peter’s, baby girl. What did you get up to last night?”

“We made gingerbread men. You can have one. Can we have them for breakfast?”

I stood, my arms still wrapped around her back and hers around my neck, and carried her back to the kitchen. Might as well let Pepper and Tony sleep. And spend some time with Morgan, given that I’d barely seen her recently.

“No, Morguna, we probably can’t have those for breakfast,” I said, having spotted the tray of gingerbread men on the counter. There were seven and a half, each one covered in mountains of icing and sprinkles. It made me feel sick just from looking at it. “But you can have shreddies if you want.”

Morgan squealed in agreement and I rolled my eyes as I set her at the breakfast bar. She went crazy for the dry, tasteless British cereal. Ever since a trip to London last year for some business thing of Pepper’s, she’d decided that when she grew up she wanted to be one of the British grannies that ‘knitted’ the cereal in commercials.

“So,” I said, setting a bowl of the cereal in front of Morgan. “How’s your new kindergarten, kiddo?”

“Good,” she replied, milk spraying over the table. I already had the cloth in hand to wipe it up. “I got a new friend called Kamala. Her mommy wears a headscarf called a ‘hajib’ and when Kammy’s older she wants to wear one too. Can I wear a hajib when I’m older, if I want?”

I forced the smile off my lips. “I’m pretty sure it’s a ‘hijab’, but yeah, baby girl, you can wear whatever you want to wear.”

“Oh,” Morgan said, shovelling another spoonful of shreddies into her mouth.”Cool. Can I _do_ what I want, too?”

I slid onto the stool next to her. “That depends. Whatcha want to do?”

“I don’t think I want to be a business like Mommy,” she said solemnly, sucking her spoon. For some weird reason, ever since she’d started speaking, she’d insisted upon using ‘business’ when ‘businesswoman’ or ‘businessman’ should have been used.

“That’s okay, kiddo,” I said. “Mommy and Daddy would never want you to do anything that didn’t make you happy. What do you think would make you happy?”

She shrugged over-exaggeratedly. “I wanna make drawings.”

“You want to be an artist?” I poked her in the side and she giggled, wriggling under my arms. “But you’re already the best artist in the whole wide world.” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into my lap so that her back was against my stomach, sitting on my lap, her feet up on the stool in front.

“I know,” she said, “But I wanna show other people my art as well. Like—like other people.”

“Other people?” I said, wriggling my fingers into her arm pits. “Like who?”

I began to tickle and she screamed with laughter, wriggling in my grip like a mouse. “I don’t know!” she said between giggles. “I just wanna—”

“ _I_ just want you two to keep it down.”

Tony stood in the doorway in his pyjamas, rubbing a hand across his eyes. He made a beeline for the coffee machine and Morgan rolled out of my grasp to hug him. Coffee in hand, and his one metal arm brushing back Morgan’s hair, he slid onto the stool next to me.

“How was Peter’s, kiddo?” he asked, one arm settling across my shoulders in a half-hug.

“Fine,” I said, keeping my eyes down. What Peter had said to me the night before on the fire escape, about just asking Tony and Pepper for adoption, was running through my mind at hyper-speed. It made sense. It made perfect sense. But what if it didn’t make perfect sense for me.

“I just came back for a change of clothes,” I said, sliding off the chair and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m going out again.”

“With who?” he called back.

“Um, this guy Brad,” I said, my lie to Peter still fresh in mind. “You don’t know him. He goes to Midtown. His dad is one of the doctors downstairs.”

He grumbled, but when I was walking back through the kitchen to the elevator, he shouted, “Call us if you need anything. Like for me to come and scare that punk kid. Love you!”

“Love you!” I called back from the elevator as the doors shut.

But it wasn’t exactly Brad who I’d be seeing today.


	33. Brad?

I reappeared, my back pressed against a wall, with a view facing the sea. I tugged my jacket tighter, despite the relatively warm weather. My suit was on underneath. My _full_ suit. Including wings. They were tucked in now, and could have been mistaken for a backpack underneath my coat. There were some weirdos that wore their coats _over_ their backpacks, weren’t there? Well, today, hopefully, everyone one in Frisco would just believe I was one of those weirdos.

I pushed off from the wall and collapsed immediately, my legs crumpling. I caught myself, and thanked god that it was sand beneath me. If it hadn’t been, I’d have been going into a Mandarin base already injured.

I let my head fall back on the sand, closing my eyes as my vision span around me. This wasn’t particularly good. Was it the distance? Previously, the furthest I’d gone had been New Haven to New York. A two hour car journey, if that. New York to San Francisco was twenty times that.

The spinning passed, and I pushed myself up to a sitting position, blinking.

“Woah, Miss,” someone said, and I looked up to see a guy, maybe in his twenties, crouched down in front of me. “You okay there? I heard a thump and just looked around to see you lying on the ground.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m fine. Really good. Thanks. Uh, have a nice day.” I pushed myself to my legs and practically ran away. The longer I was near him, the longer he’d have to notice that I wasn’t exactly dressed normally. Black, elastic, combat-style trousers made of some sort of corduroy, with black carbon plating at the knees and ankles, and criss-crossed with leather holsters? Admittedly, most of them were empty, but still. It would likely raise an alarm or two. And that was before he even saw the top half, which was undoubtedly worse. A black bullet-proof breastplate, Hunger-Games style, made of urethane compounds, and more combat-style black fatigues, also criss-crossed with straps for holsters that this time actually held weapons. Knives. My sleeves continued up my hands to give me better grip, wrapping around my palm before leaving my fingers free. There was a tiny button on the side of my first finger that activated the electro-magnets in my arms that would let my wings spread.

Oh, yeah. And then there were the wings themselves, even if they were currently tucked in.

As I walked, my dizziness faded. I made a mental note to test my skills. I needed to know what I could and couldn’t do. How far I could get, how many people I could take with me.

TUESDAY, in my earpiece, was sending me directions, and I ended up outside the seemingly normal house before I knew what to do with myself. I loitered, pretending to look at the bay, as TUESDAY fed me information.

“Six current inhabitants,” she said once her scan was done. “Three original levels, plus a sixties-era basement and a recent addition of a bunker. Three individuals are in the bunker, two are on the top floor, one is on the ground floor. Miss, I would seriously advise against entering this facility.”

“Are they armed, T?” I asked, ducking my head so no watchers would see the movement of my mouth.

“Those in the bunker are. The others are not.”

“What are the ones upstairs doing?”

I prepared myself for a worse answer than, “One is asleep. The other is watching ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel Air’ on Netflix in the same room.’

“Good show,” I muttered, ideas flitting through my head. “Alright, T. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

 

####

 

MJ yelped when I appeared in her bedroom. She yelped louder when she saw the blood streaming from my shoulder. I clapped my right hand over her mouth, wincing at the movement in the left. “Shut up,” I whispered. “You need to be quiet. Are your parents downstairs?”

She nodded wildly.

“You need to be quiet. _Quiet,_ understand?” I drew out the word.

She nodded again, her eyes getting a little less wide.

I let my hand fall and the world began to spin around me. I wasn’t sure whether it was from the teleportation or the bullet wound. In fact, everything had been a little fuzzy since before I’d teleported, but now it was definitely fuzzier.

I felt myself hit the bed, the springs creaking underneath me, and didn’t bother to stop myself from falling back against the pillows.

“What the _fuck?”_ MJ hissed, springing up from her desk chair. She appeared at my side within seconds, and I felt pressure against my shoulder. I winced, more from anticipation than pain.

“Actually,” I said out loud. “It’s mostly numb. I’m fine.”

“It’s not particularly fine,” she said. “Considering you’re bleeding out on my covers!”

“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I’ve been shot before. Besides, it’s not even that bad.”

“You don’t build up an immunity to getting shot, Olivia! Besides, I thought you were going on a date with Brad! Did Brad do this?”

I frowned at her. Or at least, I frowned at the brown, fuzzy lump that hovered above me. “No. Brad didn’t do this to me. I didn’t see Brad. I went to see the Mandarin.”

She cursed. “Of course you did. Okay, well, I’m gonna call your dad—”

“No!” I tried to shoot upwards, but MJ’s hand pinned me back to the covers and I let her push me back down. “You can’t do that! He’ll be so mad.”

“Livia, you’ve been _shot._ We have to do something.”

I glared at her. “Fine. I’ll sew it up.”

“ _You’ll_ sew it up? _You_ will sew it up? Nope. You won’t.” Her face was incredulous, eyes wide. Her brown hair was everywhere, even wilder than it normally was at school. “You’re coming with me. We’re going to Brad’s.”

“Why are we going to Brad’s?” I complained as she pulled me upwards. “He didn’t shoot me! It was a guy with a gun. I walked in on one of them and he was eating his cereal and I punched him but I forgot that I have literally no idea how to—”

“We’re going to Brad’s because his dad is a doctor at Stark Industries, and I’m 90% sure I remember Peter mentioning that he was your doctor once, so—”

“You have a good memory, Michelle,” I slurred, leaning against her. She opened the door, peeked out, and I frowned. “We could just teleport there, you know.”

She looked back at me, an eyebrow raised. “You sure you’re in the correct shape to be doing that?”

I shrugged, except I didn’t, because it was painful as hell. “Yep? You just have to be touching me. Anyway, it can’t be very far and I’d rather not bleed to death.”

MJ went pale. Paler, at least. “You said you were okay!”

“I’m joking, Michelle.” I let myself fall back on the bed again. “Ugh. Seriously. Can’t take a joke, huh?” My words were long and weirdly emphasised, and something in me registered that I was acting really weirdly. And another part realised that I’d never been to Brad’s house, and I didn’t know his address.

But in the bunker—the first bunker—when the thingy had exploded, I hadn’t been thinking of a place. I’d been thinking of Peter. So maybe, just maybe, I could get to Doctor Wells by thinking of him.

I tried to remember the face of the man that had seen me. He’d looked like Brad, but older, as far as I could remember. Normal. Hell, I didn’t even know his first name.

Which left me with one option. I crossed my fingers that Brad was at home, and that his father was too, and pictured him incredibly hard in my mind. Floppy black quiff. Cheekbones. Dark, wide eyes.

There was a thump, and I realised it was me falling to the floor. A hand gripped my good arm, tried to lift me, and I realised that it was probably MJ.

“Oh my god,” someone said. A boy’s voice. Brad’s voice. “You’re so fit in those clothes. Wait. What the hell. Are you _bleeding?”_

 

####

 

“You do realise I should tell your parents about this,” Doctor Wells said as the needle slid into my skin for the last stitch.

I sighed. “It would be really nice if you didn’t?”

“I don’t even want to know what you’ve been up to. I mean, with _this_ get up? A bullet proof vest? A backpack that’s made of metal and weighs a tonne?”

“Doctor Wells, I mean this in the nicest way possible when I say that I saved Brad’s life when that attack on the school happened. Therefore, you owe me. Therefore, I would like to pull in that favour so that you won’t tell my parents that I was ever here.”

“Where do they even think you are?” he asked, snipping the thread. He gave it one last wipe with a anti-bac solution before sliding his chair back. I was currently lying on their kitchen table, the bulletproof vest on the floor and the shoulder of my black jacket pulled to the side as he sewed me up.

I pushed myself upwards to a sitting position and tugged the jacket back down. “On a date,” I replied. “They’re responsible, I promise. I just lied to them.”

“I’ve got to say, that’s not convincing me.” He looked at me levelly. “I mean, you’re just lucky that I was here! I promise I’m not going to say anything about how you just appeared here, god knows I would be sued til the ends of the earth if I did.”

I started to protest, but he held up a finger. “Don’t even try it, young lady. I’m pretty sure Brad believed that you’ve got invisibility tech and didn’t just ‘appear’, so you’re safe there, but I was outside, and I didn’t exactly see footprints in the snow, or the door opening.”

I fell silent. So. He wasn’t stupid, like Brad. Maybe I could have got that from the medical degree he held. “Alright,” I relented. “But I’m not telling you any details, and you _are_ right that you would get sued, so seriously please don’t say anything to anyone. And consider this: I have a tendency to do stupid stuff. I normally manage to do this stupid stuff, no matter what people do or say.”

Such as stealing an Iron Man suit and practising flying it despite it being broken. Such as willingly going into battle against an alien army. Such as stealing a second Iron Man suit and doing the same thing again. Such as flying through the air five hundred feet above Manhattan wearing shorts and clinging onto a robot. Such as—or maybe that was enough.

I continued. “So, either I do this stupid stuff anyway, but next time I get shot I sit it out and bleed to death, or I do this stupid stuff anyway, but I come to you every time it happens and you can make sure I don’t die.” I gave him my most angelic smile.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I,” he said, grimacing.

I sighed in relief. “Thanks, Doctor Wells.”

“Uh, Dad?” Brad had appeared in the doorway, and was no glancing between his dad and me with hesitance and surprise on his features. “Um, Olivia, are you—can you—uh, what happened?”

Doctor Wells stood, clapped me gently on the good shoulder, and left the room. “See you around, then, Ms Stark.”

“Thank you,” I called back to him as he disappeared into another room. Brad stepped forward, his dad now gone, and slipped into a chair in front of me. They had a nice, old-fashioned kitchen, homely and warm despite the still freezing weather outside.

“What happened?” he repeated.

“Um,” I said, trying to figure out how much of the story I could fabricate. “What did MJ tell you?”

“Nothing,” he replied. He still looked terrified, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d been shot, or the mention of MJ. “She just glared at me and walked up and down about fifteen bazillion times.”

“Right,” I replied. “Well. I was… in a costume. For a party. And then I got mugged. And someone shot me. And I came here because I really don’t want my parents to know, cause they’d freak.”

“Wow,” he said, his eyes wide. “Is it a costume for _my_ party?”

“I-uh, I thought your party was last weekend?”

“We rescheduled, ‘cause of—what happened. And it’s now in three weekends’ time.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t ever remember him saying it was costume. I didn’t remember much of what he’d said that day at all. We’d spoken for, what, two minutes before the doors had blown up? “I didn’t realise that yours was a costume party.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking more awake than ever and as if he’d completely forgotten that I’d just been shot. Even my fake story should have been dramatic enough for at least a _few_ questions. I wasn’t even offended—just astonished. “The theme is ‘Avengers’. That’s cool, right? I thought you might come in an Iron Man suit. But this is equally cool! It’s like you’re a new superhero! Or are you Black Widow? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure her suit is tighter, you know, like—”

“Yeah, I’m Black Widow,” I grasped the opportunity, pushing back the pain of remembering one of my favourite of the Avengers. “This is pretty much a replica of her suit from 2018.

His face lit up. “That’s so cool! Hey, I could come as the Hulk, ‘cause they were a thing, weren’t they, and I’m pretty sure me and you would—”

“Uh, Brad?” I said, a terrible thought forming in my mind. _It has to be done,_ I thought to myself. Even if it was… not nice. “I have a favour to ask?”

He looked at me and was, for once, actually silent.

“So, I may or may not have lied to my parents about what I was doing this morning, and also to some of my friends. And I may or may not have told them that I was going on a date. With you.”

His eyes widened even further. Well, shit. This was _not_ going to end well.

“It doesn’t mean anything, of course, but you know, I was hoping that if anyone asks you whether we went on a date today, could you just say that we did? I’m really hoping that no one figures out where I really was, so that would be great, thanks—”

“Sure!” he said, a little too enthusiastically. “That would be great—I mean, fine—that would be fine—”

“Cool,” I said, sliding down from the table top and walking towards the living room, where I’d originally crash-landed. MJ was sitting on one of the sofas, glaring at the wall. “Ready to go?”

She simply nodded, her glare transferring to behind me, and, I assumed, Brad.

“Woah,” he said, coming to stand beside me. I moved on, putting out a hand to MJ. “Are you guys gonna use your cloaking tech again to get through the city invisibly? That’s so cool! But won’t it be tiring?”

I shared a glance with MJ. There was no way I was letting this guy know about my powers, even if I was, apparently, now going to his party, and I was sure he would grab this chance to tell everyone we were dating.

“You should let me drive you home, Olivia.” He stepped closer and I tried to step back, but I was already at the edge of the sofa. “You know, seeing as we were ‘on a date’ and all.”

“No,” I replied, trying to sound at least half-polite. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We can—”

“I insist!” he said, grabbing a set of car keys from a table. He made a beeline for the front door and I shared another glance with MJ.

“Do you think he actually knows the definition of ‘insist’?” I muttered to her. “Seems like quite a big word to me.”

She sniggered, but we both slid into the back of his car. When he told me I could sit in the front, I just said I didn’t want to leave MJ alone. She had, after all, given me her coat to wear to hide my suit, and who could leave a friend like that to sit alone?

The drive to the Tower took half an hour, given the layer of snow still left behind on the street after the shovelling effort of the people. I chatted to MJ the entire way about a book we were studying in English class, and every time Brad tried to get a word in about his party or how popular he was or the fact that he was on the basketball team, I cut him off with a comment about chiasmus or polysyndeton.

MJ and I exited the car at the exact same moment, and I was pretty sure she was sticking to some kind of girl code about not leaving me alone with him. I would have to thank her for not first asking him to drive her home. That would have left me in the car with him, alone, for at least another half hour.

Unfortunately, Brad also got out of the car. He half-jogged to catch up with us and when we reached the doors I turned towards him. “Thanks for driving us back, and everything else, Brad. Bye!” I tried to turn away as fast as I could, but he grabbed my wrist. Thank god it was my _good_ wrist, or I might have accidentally punched him in pain.

I might _still_ have accidentally punched him in pain. He had _grabbed_ me.

“So, Olivia,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was distinctly lower, sultrier, and I had the overwhelming urge to laugh or cringe. “Seeing as, you know, we were on a date, and I’ve walked you to your door, I’m pretty sure that means I get to do this.”

Before I knew what was happening, his lips were pressing against mine, and his slimy tongue was trying to worm its way into my mouth. I shoved him away with my one good arm and stepped back, almost falling over MJ. She supported me, and kept her arms around me, and I could have kissed her right then for not running away. Seriously, by sticking next to me, that had been _entirely_ what she’d been trying to make sure _didn’t_ happen.

Brad stared at me. Two security guards behind him were waiting for my signal to pounce. I shook my head at them silently. If I got mad at Brad right now, as much as I wanted to, I knew there would be consequences. He could tell people things. Not the worst things. It wasn’t like I was going to let him bully me into anything sex or money. But if he didn’t try anything else, there was no point letting those secrets go. And I wanted to keep those things under wraps.

“Right,” I said, pulling away from MJ. “Thanks for the ride, Brad. See you around.” I practically pushed MJ through the revolving door and into the lobby, and we rode back up to my floor in silence.

“Well,” she said in her usual deadpan voice when we finally reached my room. Somewhere it occurred to me that she was the first friend, other than Peter, that I’d invited into my home. “That was eventful.”

We both burst out laughing and flopped down onto the bed. I winced as my arm twinged, but it really wasn’t bad. A flesh wound, well taken care of, and there was probably still adrenaline in me.

“How did you even know his dad was one of the doctors here?” I asked once we were finally able to breathe again.

“Peter mentioned earlier today,” she replied.

“Why was _he_ talking about _Brad_?” I asked, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

“He was trying to figure out why you were going on a date with him,” she replied the corner of her mouth twisting upwards. I glared at her. “But I hit him dead on with a snowball and he got a nosebleed so the conversation was pretty much over after that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped the action 'cause I'm pretty sure that's not what you guys are here for anyway, but let me know if I'm wrong. Also what would you guys think of me going back and filling in earlier sections? (either in the ten year gap, or various different things since, such as Tony POV and Peter POV chapters)


	34. Settled

Tony was sitting on the edge of his and Pepper’s bed, watching the city through the window. The sky was darkening, the sun already invisible and leaving only an orange-pink tint to the sky. It looked more peaceful like this, with snow covering every surface. Though the streets had been cleared after the original bout of weather, another few hours of hard snowing over the afternoon had covered the city again.

Pepper’s hand drifted over his shoulder as she slipped into bed. He turned with a smile and slid under the covers. Lying on his back, his head turned towards her, their feet tangled, his cold and hers warm, like always. Tony was silent as he studied her, still beautiful even fifteen years after he’d realised he was in love with her. Despite ever grey strand that peppered Tony’s beard and hair now, despite every smile line and wrinkle that now creased his face, Pepper still looked as youthful as she always had. Her eyes were still as kind and thoughtful and all-seeing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, intertwining their hands on the bed between them.

He sighed. “I’m worried about Olivia. Feels like something’s wrong.”

Pepper’s features softened. She had never once been anything but kind and warm and amazing to Olivia, never been angry about it. How had he managed to find such a woman that would never hold it against him that he had a kid from a previous relationship? “She’ll be okay. She’s just growing up.”

“Pepper, she went on a sledge _once_ today. This is the same kid that begged us to spend our summer vacation in _igloos,_ in the _Canadian mountains_ , even when she was too terrified to ask for anything else. She _loves_ the snow. And you think that just because she’s a few years older, she’s not gonna sledge?”

“Well, she was probably just tired, like she said. She spent all of yesterday with her friend Michelle, and then was at Peter’s overnight and May said they were up at nine after watching movies til god knows what time. And then she went on a date and then spent a few more hours with Michelle. She’s allowed to be tired.”

Tony huffed and rolled onto his front, propping his head up on his cold metal hand. “I know. But don’t you think we ought to talk to her?”

“Yeah,” Pepper replied, one arm coming up to card through Tony’s hair. He almost shivered under the touch. “But in the morning. Not at ten at night.”

He felt his features crease into a smile and he leaned down to press his lips to hers. “You’re the best, Pep,” he muttered, and she smiled against him.

“I know.”

He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, until his chest was pressed against her back and they were curved together. The scent of coconut wafted from her hair and he breathed it in, revelling in the simple things he never thought he’d have.

“Do you think she’d be more open with us if I’d treated her differently when she was younger?” he asked.

It had always been, would always be, a regret for him. One of many in his life. The months stretching after her first turning up on the doorstep, during which the only words passed between them had been stilted and forced, and Olivia had looked at him like she was afraid he was going to send her back to her foster home

Years later, despite the bonding that had occurred in between over mechanics and annoying Pepper and Boston Bruins ice hockey, Pepper moving out when she’d finally decided it was too much, and taking his kid (his kid, who was technically _her_ kid, because the courts were right and he was an alcoholic, dangerous, reckless idiot) back to her own swish brownstone in a good neighbourhood.

The times when Pepper had kept his kid busy to stop her from seeing the news that called her father a murderer, or his name plastered on newspapers that dragged him through the mud for following the law.

Or the times when he’d been caught up for too long, in the Accords or a fight or a goddamn _spaceship,_ and when he came back it was Pepper who’d been able to comfort Olivia. Or Rhodey or Happy. Clint, pulling out the tricks he’d learned with his own kids. Sometimes even Nat. But not Tony, because Olivia hadn’t trusted Tony not to run away.

He hadn’t ever been jealous of Pepper. Hadn’t ever held a grudge that she was a better parent than he was, even to his own kid. But that hadn’t stopped him from reminding himself over and over again of how he’d screwed up with Olivia, despite thinking that the one thing his father had successfully taught him had been not to screw kids over.

“It’s not your fault, Tony,” Pepper’s soft voice cut through his thoughts and her hand settled on his, around her waist. “We all did the best we could with what we had, and you’re a much better father than you give yourself credit for. And Olivia is going to be fine. She’s had a trying time recently. But she’s got us, and Morgan, and her new friends. She’s going to be fine.”

Tony pulled himself out of the past. “And this new boyfriend of hers?”

“You know, I don’t think he’s actually her boyfriend. They just went on a date, Tony.”

Something pinged and Pepper stretched towards her bedside table. Her phone rested there, but Pepper just flipped it over so the lit-up screen was facing down, and turned it onto silent.

“You don’t think she’s a little young for dating?”

Pepper considered it. She always considered everything, never gave a hasty answer. “No,” she concluded after a minute. “I mean, I don’t think there’s a parent out there that doesn’t wish their kid wouldn’t date, but as long as it’s staying… innocent… I think it’s fine. And as long as the guy is actually genuine.”

“So basically, she has to date in the exact opposite way to how I did when I was her age?”

Pepper raised an eyebrow, though Tony could barely see her expression with the way they were lying. “You didn’t date, mister. Don’t think I don’t know that.”

Tony smiled, strands of Pepper’s hair tickling his chin. Pepper’s phone pinged again and she groaned before stretching out again, this time holding down the off button.

“I think you might want to look at that, Mrs Stark,” FRIDAY’s Irish accent called down.

Tony pushed himself up on his elbows as Pepper finally pulled the phone off the bedside table. She sent Tony a look of nervous hesitation before clicking the phone on. The only thing that slightly stopped Tony’s heart from exploding was the fact that they’d contacted Pepper instead of him. That meant that it most likely wasn’t another invasion, or Avengers business.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered.

“What? What is it?” Tony pulled the phone from her grasp and went slack at the picture that was on the screen. Olivia, unmistakably Olivia, though the picture was blurry and from far away, with a boy’s arms wrapped around her and their lips pressed together. On a news website. With the words, _Olivia Stark, 16, appears a little worse for wear as she puckers up for schoolmate boyfriend Brad outside Dad’s house,_ written above _._ “Oh, shit.” Tony scrambled out of bed. “Are the lawyers working on it?”

Pepper was hunched forward, furiously typing. She read, her eyes sliding from side to side, until— “No,” she said, visibly relaxing. “But they will be. And it’s not as urgent as it seemed—”

“Pepper, I’m not letting my daughter grow up like that! It was bad enough for me not being able to look at someone without the press reporting it, but for a girl? They didn’t even get her age right and—”

“Tony, listen to me—”

“Whoever this punk thinks he is, talking to the newspapers like that—I’m not letting it happen—”

“ _Tony.”_

He shut up.

“It hasn’t been released yet. Our contacts at New York Daily sent us a heads up. This is a page that is still being edited, but will be up in half an hour at most. It’s not out yet. No one’s seen it.”

Tony let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay.” He swallowed, his mind already working through all the ramifications of the situation. “Get the lawyers onto it and make sure it doesn’t get posted.”

Pepper gave him a look but was already typing. He took another breath. As if he didn’t know that Pepper would be on it in a heartbeat, figuring out everything, her mind working faster at this than his ever could. Perhaps he was the genius, but Pepper was the one who was actually capable of doing things. Especially under pressure. Especially when they involved lawyers, PR, and people.

Tony sank back down onto the edge of the bed, his mind still practically frozen in the panic-stage of _She’s going to grow up like I did._ How long until the media started paying people for their stories of ‘wild nights out with Olivia Stark’? Or worse, ‘wild nights _in_ with Olivia Stark’… How long until people started trying to get into bed with her just for the money they might siphon somewhere? The only part of this that would be _better_ with her as a girl would be that _she_ was the only one who could get pregnant. No claims on kiddie cheques or support.

It made him sick that _that_ was how his daughter’s life would be.

“Tony,” Pepper said in a reproachful tone. “This isn’t how it’s gonna be forever. I know that you’re worried about what will happen to her, but Olivia’s a smart girl. She’ll be sensible.”

Tony turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow. “You saying I wasn’t? Well, I accept that I wasn’t a girl—that I _won’t_ argue with—but was I not smart?”

“Alright,” Pepper said, pulling him back down against the covers. “Olivia’s a smart girl with parents who care very much about her and are able to protect her from this sort of thing. We’ll talk to her tomorrow, make sure this isn’t going to become a frequent occurrence, and she’ll listen.”

“She’s a Stark. Since when did Starks listen to people.”

“She’s also a Hansen and a Potts, so that makes her two-thirds sensible. It overpowers the Stark third.”

Tony snorted ungracefully and curled his arm around her again, left with nothing to say as only Pepper could do.

“The lawyers are on it now, they’ll keep us updated, but they’re sure the papers will come round, and it’ll all be sorted. She’s a minor, anyway, they can’t say no.”

“What about this Brad kid?” Tony asked, the picture from the paper coming back to his mind. Olivia’s hands hadn’t been around him the way his had been around her. Fighting back the odd feeling of seeing his daughter _kiss_ someone, and what he assumed was her first kiss, too, he made himself think about it. Olivia’s hands had been at her sides, and in the second photo, between them and flat against his chest, like she was going to push him away.

“ _Tomorrow_ , Tony,” Pepper said again, though her hand still gripped her phone as it lay face down on the covers.

 

####

 

“So,” Pepper said, sliding her phone across the table. Tony was bustling around behind me making a cup of coffee. This was their Parenting Tactic, where one of them talked to me directly while the other was ‘busy’ so that both were there, but I didn’t feel cornered.

I felt a little cornered anyway.

I picked the phone up and almost dropped it straight away. Me and Brad. Kissing. In front of Stark Tower. On my parents’ phone. Not weird at all.

“That almost hit the papers yesterday evening,” Pepper said and my eyes widened even further as I looked back up at her.

“ _What_?” I said, though inside it seemed pretty clear what she had said. Maybe it was the painkillers doing the talking. That would make sense, given the inordinate amount I had taken.

“Yep,” she said, eyes full of sympathy but also a weird, non-disapproving, non-judging tone, that still somehow managed to make me feel judged and disapproved of. “Legal caught it just in time. NYD had it from a bystander, but they’ve now deleted everything.”

I looked back down at the photo. My mind was split into two very distinct spheres. One was screaming, _They’ve seen me and Brad kissing._ The other part was also screaming, but something slightly different. _I’m wearing a tactical suit in that photo with knives and tucked-in wings and a coat that’s not mine and I’ve been shot in the shoulder and—_

“Can I delete this?” I said, pointing down at the photo. “It’s a little… weird, you know… that you guys have these photos. I would much rather…”

Pepper waved me the go ahead and I binned them. True, it was pretty blurry and you couldn’t see much other than black trousers and a weirdly shaped coat, but with Tony’s tech, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was all you needed.

Pepper was still talking about something annoying but probably sensible, about how I was famous, and it sucked but I had to be careful, and that any future… involvements (She had even included the suggestive pause, and I again cringed from the fact that my parents were giving me The Talk that they’d never bothered with before.) would have to be out of sight, and, again, that I had to be careful, because I had money—  
“Actually,” I cut her off. I was pretty sure I couldn’t bear hearing that for any longer than I had to. Which, with Pepper, meant upstaging it with something more important. “There was something I wanted to talk to you and Dad about.”

Tony slid into the seat beside Pepper, coffee in hand. He had a weird expression, as if he wasn’t sure to be amused or disgusted by me kissing someone (or being kissed _by_ someone). “Don’t leave us hanging _too_ long, kiddo,” Tony said.

And then I realised that, having brought this up, I actually _did_ have to talk to them. My heart started beating faster and I had to force a breath through my panicking lungs. If I was at all brave, I would just say it straight out. _I want you to adopt me._ But I had told Peter that I was bad at asking for things, and I hadn’t lied. Which meant beating around the bush.

“I was thinking about how I’m eighteen in just three years, and—the other day Pepper mentioned that she was my legal guardian, rather than actually, like, having adopted me, and I was thinking about that and how, like, I’ve been here for ten years and—”

“Olivia, honey, just say what you’d like to say,” Pepper said, her voice firm but kind.

I thought back to the minutes I’d spent with Peter on the balcony. _Why don’t you just ask them?_ Well. It was either this or go back to the conversation about ‘ _safe sex for millionaires’._ “Would you guys… ever want… you know, it’s fine if you don’t, but—would you guys want to adopt me?” When the words finally came, they came fast as a waterfall. I could feel my eyes prickling and blinked once, twice, to stop the tears. Pepper and Tony were just—staring at me. Not much of an answer.

Surprisingly, it was Tony who moved first, to look sideways at Pepper. “Yep,” he said, voice sharp. “Yep, I would want that. I would very much be up for that. Works for me.”

The grip on my heart eased halfway, but Pepper was still just staring. _She doesn’t want me. Why did I ask? There was a reason that she was only my legal guardian._ It was difficult to breathe again, and I turned my gaze upwards to force back tears. As if in a trance, Pepper turned to look at Tony, then back at me. “Honey,” she said, “Are you sure?”

“Well… yeah,” I replied, my fingernails digging into my palm under the table. Stupid. Stupid. I’d just screwed things up, clearly.

“Oh, sweetie…” Pepper stood and rounded the breakfast bar before wrapping me in a hug. I half-returned it, though I could feel myself being stiff and taut under her grip. Was this a pity hug? An ‘I’m sorry’ hug?” “I didn’t know that was what you wanted,” she continued.

I was still confused. She squeezed tighter, her hair tickling over me. I winced at the pain that spread in my shoulder, my expression hidden from both Tony and Pepper, before she leaned back, and held me at arm’s length. “Honey, I would be honoured.”

Relief washed through me, though it was at a disbelieving distance. “Really?” I asked, glancing down. I was ready for the _Prank! We’re kidding! We don’t want you!_

Instead, Pepper said, “Of course, hon. We would have done it before, except we didn’t know if you wanted to.”

Tony’s hand settled on my shoulder and I turned to see him standing next to me, his coffee forgotten on the counter. “Pep thought that you might think she was trying to replace your mom,” he said, eyes sparkling, and a voice in the back of my head said, _this is how he looks at Morgan._

And then what he’d actually said sank in. “Oh,” I replied, glancing at Pepper. She gave Tony a look, one of those ones that was so full of love and fond exasperation that I didn’t know whether to vomit or thank the gods, but turned back to me as I said, “No—that’s not—I mean, I know you’re not really… my mom. But I mean—she was only around for five years. For me, at least.” Of course it hurt that she was gone, but sometimes I thought it hurt because it was _supposed_ to hurt, rather than because I could really miss her. Hell, I barely even remembered her.

Pepper glanced back down, a reminder that Maya Hansen had been more real to them than she ever could be to me. They’d actually known her. And though what I was trying to do to the Mandarin was for my mother, I was working more off an idea and case files I’d hacked into, than a real person.

“Then it’s settled,” Tony said. “You officially, legally, become my daughter again.”

A smile began to stretch across my lips. His eyes were warm, sparkling, creased with laugh lines. I’d seen the photos of Tony ‘in his prime’. But no one would ever convince me that this wasn’t who Tony Stark was supposed to be. Stay at home dad. Wannabe farmer. Old music enthusiast.

Tiny feet pattered across the floor and Morgan wrapped an arm around my leg. Her other arm was wrapped around Pepper. “You’re having a big hug without me,” she said crossly before attempting to climb up onto the stool. I lifted her so she was standing, her eyes at the same level as ours now. My arm was around her back, hanging on in case she fell, whilst hers was around my neck.

“Hey, Madama Secretary,” Tony said, reaching out to poke her in the stomach. She slapped him away, ‘angrily’. “Olivia’s gonna become your real sister now. Whaddya think of that?”

She glared at him and wrapped her legs around my torso, her arms around my neck in what was either an attempt to strangle me or to be carried. I really hoped it was the latter. “She’s already my sister, idiot,” she said, and Tony crowed at her use of the word.

I could get used to this.


	35. the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: non-con. But not too too serious I think. Not sure if I'll get a chapter up tomorrow, but enjoy!  
> and also I know the party was supposed to be three weekend away but i changed it to the following weekend. I'll actually get around to changing it in the chapter at some point.

We didn’t go back to school until Thursday, thanks to the on-going snow. I took the time to rest and sleep, though I made myself go out ‘sledging’ everyday with MJ so that Pepper and Tony didn’t get suspicious. She decided that I would be teleporting her to school every morning from now on, because I was ‘better than a taxi service’. I’d still only seen the inside of her bedroom, and so—when Morgan finally got bored of the endless slushy snow and I offered to take her to the lake house, which was untouched by snow—I didn’t invite MJ. I could have. I almost did. Despite the fact that she’d recently helped me break into a police station and bandage a gunshot wound in my shoulder, she was my most normal friend. Pretty much the only person in my life that I hadn’t met because my dad was a superhero.

But I hadn’t been to her house (other than her bedroom), I hadn’t met any of her family, and I realised that I knew relatively little about her.

So Morgan and I went by ourselves and I realised too late that I was still shot in the shoulder and couldn’t risk getting it infected, so she swam while I watched from the bank and wondered what Peter and the others were getting up to.

And on Thursday, the snow cleared and we went back to school. Except I couldn’t exactly cure my Peter/Friend Withdrawal because, as I realised again, I had been shot in the goddamn shoulder. And if anyone was watching me too closely they would notice.

I kept to myself. I ignored the whispers that followed me around the school, and the crowd that followed Brad. (Perhaps the article hadn’t gotten out, but no one could stop Twitter.) I ate lunch in the library whilst working on an essay that I didn’t have to do. I teleported MJ to and from school and told her to tell Peter and Ned that they were invited to Brad’s party instead of telling them myself.

It would be better by then, right?

The two days of school dragged past but finally the weekend arrived. Saturday arrived. Brad’s party arrived.

I kinda wanted to not go.

I didn’t like Brad, and I didn’t want him to kiss me again. I didn’t want to fuel the rumour mill. I’d never been to a real party before and didn’t exactly know what to do. It wasn’t like anyone would talk to me other than Peter, MJ, Ned, and cocky teenagers that thought they could get in my pants.

But it wasn’t as if I was going to let the people at school and their stupid shitty judgmental rumours about me and Brad stop me. If I wanted to go out and have a nice night, then who were they to try and control me? A part of me reminded myself that, if I was going just because of that, then I _would_ be letting them control me, but the other part just repaired the hole in the costume, detached the wings and any real weapons. I added a crappy red wig from a costume shop that was even crappier considering I already had red hair—just not the right shade—and fixed on a Black Widow hourglass belt.

Tony got a real kick out of it. He found it hilarious. Didn’t even stop to realise that this was a very well-made costume.

So I teleported to MJ’s.

“Seriously?” I said as soon as I saw her costume. Black jeans and a black top with butter knives taped all over her body. Black Widow, clearly.

“Did you think I was gonna put effort into this, Stark?” she replied, already with a hand on my shoulder, ready to go.

I let out a surprised laugh. “I guess not.” She would still terrify every single person at that party, and that was what counted, wasn’t it?

“How’s the shoulder?” she asked, and I rolled it.

A twinge of pain, but not much more. It had only been a flesh wound, and besides, Brad’s dad had done a good job. “Pretty good,” I replied. “Just don’t punch it. Or, like, touch it at all.”

We teleported to Brad’s house, appearing in the bushes. It was dark, thank god, and though it was only hitting nine, every person I could see was already looking tipsy. Otherwise they would’ve realised that no car had brought us here, so I was happy with that.

“Look,” MJ said as we rounded the bush, pointing towards the house. It was traditional, wooden boards with a porch and shutters. The kind you’d see in an old musical. And standing right next to the door, backs pressed against the wall as they stared out from the porch over the garden, were Peter and Ned.

“They look terrified,” I said, and MJ hmmed.

“Yep. Hilarious, huh?”

We approached, hardly anyone even glancing at us, and made our way up the stairs. Peter was wearing a red and gold Iron Man shirt, with the painted on muscles (though god knew he had enough of his own) and a glowing blue arc reactor. Nerd. Ned, beside him, was wearing a similar kind of thing but for Spider-Man.

I almost burst out laughing at that, and they finally noticed us. “You guys… Top nerds,” I managed to choke out at the sight of Peter standing next to a Spider-Man costume.

Ned looked a little indignant. “Hey, this is a dress-up party, and we’re by far not the nerdiest. I think this is low-key! I mean, even yours is worse!”

I fixed him with a glare, and the relief that had come onto his features from us having arrived melted away. “Worse?”

“Well,” he stammered, “like—higher effort. Nerdier. You know?”

I grinned at him and after a second he returned it. “Whatever. You’re just jealous because I actually look like Black Widow.”

Someone behind me muttered something that sounded like, “Black Widow had a better ass,” and I had to swallow to keep myself from punching him. He was already gone, anyway, having disappeared into the crowds inside. Natasha had _died_ to bring everyone back. And he could only talk about her _ass_?

Peter was glaring, too, and I knew MJ hadn’t heard because if she had everyone would already be running and screaming.

“Why are we even here again?” MJ asked, and I gave her a look, but before I could say anything, Peter grumbled in agreement.

“It’s so loud. I can hear _everything._ And I don’t like Brad,” he said, and Ned gave _him_ a look, though I couldn’t tell what it meant.

“Be nice,” he said to Peter after a second, though I was pretty sure that hadn’t been what his eyes had been saying. “He’s friends with Liv.”

“Not really,” I replied, wrinkling my nose as I looked around at the crowd. “I just thought we should come. Something normal, you know?”

Ned and Peter each gave me a look that said, _This is supposed to be normal?_ MJ was staring through the window into the packed room.

“I want pizza,” she said, and Ned immediately perked up. The pair headed inside, pushing through the crowds, and I was about to follow when Peter’s hand gripped my wrist.

I turned back. His expression was wavering between cross, hesitant, and upset. “Have you been avoiding me?” he said, words shockingly clear and concise given his habit of long, stammered questions and explanations.

“Um,” I replied, frantically trying to get my mind to work beyond the fact that his face was very close to mine and his body was very close to mine and I could feel the heat of his body brushing over mine. “No?”

He deflated, the tiniest bit. “Can you just—tell me why? Because if it’s about last weekend—I’m sorry if I overstepped any—any boundaries or anything and I didn’t mean to make it weird—”

“No, Peter,” I cut him off. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just been busy. And thinking. There’s this project that I’ve been working on—”

“What is it?” he questioned, having straightened a little.

And I hadn’t lied. I’d been working on the suit, on the Mandarin, even if I hadn’t gone very far to do so. But— “I can’t tell you.” I bit my lip. “I’m really sorry. But I can’t.”

“Oh.” His tone was disappointed, but his eyes were still on mine, not moving or changing. “That’s okay.”

And then he didn’t say anything and I didn’t say anything and I realised that we were still standing very close together and I could still feel the heat from his body and not only were our bodies close together but our faces were too and I could see the pure brown of his eyes and the tiniest freckles that I hadn’t noticed before on his cheeks and the lines of his lips and why was I focussing on his lips and why was he focussing on my lips and—

“I’m gonna go inside,” I said, turning away. _Don’t complicate things,_ I reminded myself. _Don’t complicate things. Not with Peter. Don’t ruin Peter._

MJ was good but she’d been around for what, two weeks? Less than? And who could tell how quickly she’d leave again, or something would go wrong. Whereas Peter had always been around. Even when I was a kid he’d been there. I’d never seen him leave anyone behind. Peter was trustworthy and solid and I couldn’t ruin that.

“Pizza,” Peter said, and I nodded, ducking between the packed figures in Brad’s living room. I could barely see, through the people, the spot where I’d crash-landed less than a week ago. The sound in the room was deafening, music and talking and shouting. That was good. Meant me and Peter didn’t have to talk. We found MJ and Ned in the kitchen, where pizzas lay across the table upon which I’d been stitched up. Doctor Wells was at the oven, shovelling more pizzas onto boards and slicing them into pieces.

“Olivia,” he said when he saw me, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. It was a little less crowded in here, a little less loud. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Doctor,” I replied, taking a piece of pizza. Ned and Peter both looked at me, as if they couldn’t believe I was _talking_ to him, but Peter had been the one to tell MJ that Brad’s dad was a doctor at the tower, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t know.

“Been up to anything interesting lately?” he asked, coming to stand with his hand on the back of a chair.

“Not really,” I replied, the answer being true whether he meant ‘getting shot’ or ‘other parties’. “Just schoolwork, really.”

“I thought that school of yours banned homework for a few weeks after that attack. Or has Brad been lying to skive off work?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “They stopped it for a few weeks. But I have some stuff to catch up on, and I’m doing a couple extra essays for English, and…” That wasn’t entirely true, unless ‘extra essays for English’ could be creatively interpreted as ‘writing code for a supersuit’.

“Huh,” he replied, and gave me an appraising look before turning back to the oven. “Well, Brad’s around here somewhere and I’m sure you’ll see him. Enjoy your evening.”

 

 

####

 

We made it through about an hour of the party before I decided I was officially bored. Ned and Peter had spent the entire time whispering to each other in anxious tones and glancing around the room. MJ, when I refused to actually tell her what had happened in San Francisco, had pulled a book out.

(“I liked you better when you were being nice, and playing boardgames, and teaching my little sister Italian.”

“Yeah, well, I figured you needed rest then, seeing as you’d just got shot, but if you’re well enough to go to a lame party like this, then you’re well enough to answer a few questions.”

“Nope. Not telling you.” Yeah, I wasn’t about to tell her that I’d attacked, and actually got a few good hits in, too, before he’d hit a panic button and three men had rushed out of the basement. One of them had shot me before I could get away. Note to self: check for panic buttons _before_ entering establishment.)

And so I hadn’t really had anyone to talk to.

I’d wandered through the rooms for five minutes, pushing between bodies, before I decided that upstairs would be much nicer. I could check out the bookshelves, maybe hack into a computer or two, and get away from all the stares and giggles that followed me.

Which was how I found myself with my fingers trailing over the video games on the shelf (not books) when the door creaked open and a figure came in. It took my eyes a second to adjust to the light, but then I saw Brad.

“Hey, Olivia,” he said, an easy smirk on his face. “What you up to up here?”

“Um,” I replied, trying to figure out how I could get out of the room without having to go any closer to him. “Sorry. I was just—I wanted to have a look at your books. It’s a bit crowded downstairs.”

He took a step closer and I realised that— _video games—_ this was Brad’s room. A lump was starting to form in my throat. “Yeah, it is pretty crowded down there.” He grinned as if at some private joke, his fingers running over the surface of his desk as he stepped closer.

“I’m just gonna—go,” I said, stepping around him and aiming for the door.

A hand wrapped around my waist and he turned me. My hands were becoming fists at my sides. “It’s okay, babe,” he said, alarmingly close. “I know why you’re really up here.”

I was frozen in position by his proximity. But it wasn’t good proximity. It wasn’t Peter proximity. It was terrifying, breath on the neck, horror film proximity. I tried to step back, but again his hands wrapped themselves around my waist.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he continued, though I was very much worrying. “It doesn’t hurt.”

His face came closer, his entire body, somehow, got closer, until his lips were brushing over my neck, his fingers creeping lower on my body.

“Brad,” I said, but my voice was dry and it came out as a croak, a whisper. My mind felt like it was on fire, burning, rising in a light-headed, unthinking, panicking scream. “Brad,” I tried again. “I don’t—”

“Shh, babe. I know you want this. I know you want _me._ ” His fingers crept lower, around, moving towards the front of my body, and I managed to get my arms between us despite the twinging of my shoulder, ready to push him back.

“Get off,” I said again, and he didn’t, and I collected my strength, was ready to push, and—

The door crashed open. “ _Get off her,”_ Peter snarled, hands in fists at his sides.

Brad’s arms fell away from me and he took a step back. He was blinking. Ned squeezed in behind Peter and was at my side in an instant, ushering me back towards the light and the corridor and Peter.

But Brad’s hand grabbed my wrist again. “Parker,” he said. “Who are you to deny a girl what she wants?” His voice was angry and I could tell—I could just _tell_ —that he was ready to fight. And Peter was, too. But he would regret it later, when Brad was lying in a hospital.

“What she _wants?”_ Peter said, tone sharp beyond anything I’d ever heard from Peter. “No one in their right mind would want _you_. Especially not Olivia.”

Ned was staring at where Brad’s hand wrapped around my wrist as if he was considering peeling each finger off one by one, but I just shook him away instead. _I should say something_ , I realised. _Something to Brad. So he doesn’t do this again._

“What, because she’s a Stark? Because she’s so much better than me? My dad works for Stark, so we know he’s not all that, Parker. And you should, too.”

But my mouth wouldn’t move. And even if it could, I wasn’t sure I could find the words.

So I just let Ned guide me out of the room, and gripped Peter’s wrist as I went. Anything to get him away from Brad. My feet, or Ned and Peter, carried me away from the room, towards the front door. MJ met us by the drive, and Aunt May was already there with the car. Ned slid into the front, and Peter and MJ took either side of me in the back.

“You okay?” he muttered, and I just nodded back.

“Asshole,” MJ spat, and May didn’t even bother telling her off for her language.

She just nodded. “And then some.”


	36. I'm going home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in return for my abysmal update schedule, here's a long one! a lot of angst, but it makes the coming fluff so much sweeter. Enjoy!

May dropped Ned back at home on the way to the apartment. He left the car with an anxious glance at Peter and Olivia, but nothing more. When they made it back to the apartment, May set Peter and Olivia down on the sofa, still silent and frozen, and bustled around through the kitchen, the coffee machine hissing.

She pressed hot chocolate into Peter’s hands and set another down in front of Olivia before saying, “If either of you want to talk to me—about anything—I’ll be just down the hall. Nothing’s too small, kids. Okay?”

Peter made himself look up and smile in agreement, and in the space of a blink, she was gone.

He was vaguely aware, somewhere outside his bubble, that MJ had shaken Olivia from her stillness, and they were talking. One of them even said something to him, and he nodded back. But it was like his ears were filled with cotton and he was trapped behind glass. Even his body didn’t really feel like part of him. He should be cold, wearing only the stupid Iron Man costume shirt with no hoodie. But he didn’t _feel_ cold. He should be dropping the piping hot mug, or at least putting it down. But he didn’t _feel_ like he was being burned. He should be crying or shouting about what had almost happened to Olivia. But he didn’t _feel_ angry.

Everything happening around him was on another plane of reality. And he was still stuck with Brad and that party and the words he couldn’t get out of his head.

_I know why you’re really up here. Don’t worry, baby. It doesn’t hurt._ _I know you want this. I know you want me._

_Get off._

Olivia and Michelle disappeared right in front of him, and he didn’t even look up. She reappeared just as quickly, alone, and Peter saw only a flash of bright red as she tossed her wig away, and the strange fuzz of words, meaningless sounds, as she unbuckled the Black Widow belt and let it drop onto the sofa. After a long, drawn-out second (as every second was, now) she, too, fell back onto the sofa. It creaked beneath her, the cushions rippling and shifting around Peter.

There was more noise. Sounds. Peter blinked. _She’s talking to me,_ he thought, and forced himself to look up. To listen.

“—going cold,” she said. “Peter? Are you listening to me?”

He blinked again. “Uh—yeah. I’m listening. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“That your hot chocolate’s getting cold.” She unclipped the black, breastplate-like sheet from her costume and set it on the carpet next to the sofa, revealing a close-fitting black jacket with a zip up the middle. It clung to her curves in a way that Peter didn’t want to think about, given what had happened. And yet—she just threw herself onto the sofa, letting her feet fall in Peter’s lap. Comfortable. Not shying away or curling up in a ball, away from every guy that looked at her. As if nothing had even happened.

“Yeah,” he said, turning his gaze back to his hot chocolate he took a sip. It was still hot, but bearable. The warmth coursed through his centre like a river bleeding life back into a desert. “How are you doing?” It was a bad question. The worst question. And yet, it was the only thing he could think of.

“I’m good, thanks, yeah,” Liv replied, tugging a blanket off the back of the sofa and throwing it over her legs. The corner landed at her ankles and Peter instinctively pulled it further to cover her feet and tucked it under. “What about you?”

“I’m okay.” He studied her. She really did look fine. Unaffected. As if they’d left the party because it was boring (it had also been boring, to be fair) rather than because a guy had almost tried to rape Olivia. “But seriously. You can tell me. How are you doing?”

She snorted. “I’m fine. But I am curious: how did you know what was—was going on?”

The first slip. The catch in her voice, the stutter of her words. She _wasn’t_ fine. Peter could recognise it. He just didn’t know why Liv didn’t _talk_ to him. She’d been avoiding him for days, but she’d said it was because she was busy. Maybe, maybe not. But couldn’t she at least _talk_ to him? Or if she didn’t trust him—could she just get out? Show somehow, anyhow, that she had the least bit of concern for herself.

But she was looking at him weirdly, and he realised she’d asked him a question. “Oh,” he said, shuffling his position to cover the awkwardness. With his legs crossed on the couch, turned at an angle to face her and with her feet still resting in his lap, he said, “MJ noticed Brad follow you upstairs. And she thought it was weird, and—I didn’t want to listen, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop or anything—” He had pushed the image out of his head of Brad and Olivia, together— “But MJ said she thought it was weird and you didn’t want him to be—and I couldn’t help it, really, I mean I just hear everything—heightened senses, you know—but I heard… you saying no. And ‘get off’. And I heard what… what he said. So I told MJ what happened and to call May and to get to the car, and me and Ned came to find you, and yeah.”

Olivia’s features had barely shifted during the story, but now the barest smirk appeared on her lips. “You sent MJ away because you knew she’d punch him and you didn’t want the violence, didn’t you?”

Peter snorted and the humour—however forced—felt good. It pushed him out of the bubble, out from behind the glass, and suddenly the world sounded and tasted and felt richer. “I sent MJ out because I knew she’d punch him, and _I_ wanted to be the one to punch him.”

“Selfish,” she remarked, her smirk growing, and Peter forced himself to hold his own smile back.

“But really, Livvy,” he said, the sombreness ballooning inside him again. “You can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say. I’m _fine._ ”

“No, you’re not,” Peter said. “And that’s okay. But you need to talk to someone. What happened wasn’t okay and you don’t have to pretend that it was—”

“ _Nothing_ _happened_ , Peter.” She was straightened up now, her feet pulled back away from him. “Nothing happened.”

He swallowed. Was she trying to convince Peter, or herself? “You can’t lie to yourself about—”

“I’m _not_ lying to myself. Drop it! What is it with you? Nothing happened and I’m fine and you should just leave it alone!”

His mouth was getting dry. He hated arguing. Hated it. But someone needed to say these things to Olivia, because he could see the tiny jumps, the catches in her breath that said she _wasn’t_ fine.“Are you going to tell your parents?”

The question seemed standard, expected, to Peter, but Olivia paused as if she hadn’t thought about it. “No,” she said, “I’m not. Because there’s nothing to tell.”

“So, you’re not going to talk to your parents about it and you’re not going to talk to me about it. We can’t help you unless you talk to us—”

“I don’t _need_ help. Jesus, just leave me alone! I’ll talk to you if I need to, alright?”

She threw herself up from the couch, mug in hand, and made her way to the sink. The rushing of the tap as she washed it up was enough of an excuse to not talk for fifteen seconds. But it wasn’t enough to drown out Peter’s thoughts, or the images that came back and back in his head of Brad with one arm holding Olivia to him, the other creeping down her front, picking at the waistband of her trousers. Lips pressed to her throat like a vampire’s bite, as if he _owned_ her—and those words that still echoed in his mind.

“Will you, though?” he said quietly. The words were out of his mouth before he’d realised he was speaking them out loud. “Will you talk to me? Because I think you prefer to ignore your problems and pretend they don’t exist rather than talk about them.”

She snorted. “That’s not true. Last weekend I talked to you about not being adopted.”

“Yeah, and you changed the subject straight away when I tried to offer a solution and be serious about it.” He stood. When he was sitting and she was standing, it was too unbalanced. It felt like he was a kid again, trying to tell off a grown-up. “Whenever you _do_ talk about your problems, you just turn it into a joke or something to complain about, rather than actually trying to fix it.”

Olivia spun, her gaze landing on him hard. “ _What_ did you say?”

“You don’t want to deal with your problems because you’re scared of them.”

She raised an eyebrow, turned her whole body towards Peter. “I’m _scared?_ What do _I_ have to be scared of?”

“You tell me! Because _you’re_ always the one who ends the conversations before they’ve begun. _You’re_ the one who refuses to admit that you have trauma and panic attacks. _You’re_ the one who jumps into stupid situations headfirst because you feel like you need to prove that you can—”

“Oh, and _you’re_ so much better?” Venom dripped from her voice, and Peter almost flinched back. “Yeah, you’re not the guy who almost destroyed a ferry and all the people onboard, or who jumped on a spaceship despite being told specifically not to. You’re not the guy who—”

“At least I acknowledge my issues, rather than pretending they don’t exist!” He ran a hand through his hair. _Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up—_ “Yes, I messed up with the ferry. Yes, I miss my uncle. Yes, half the time I’m terrified and I don’t even know if I want to be Spider-Man anymore but at least I’m not too scared to admit it! I know when I need help. Why can’t you?”

“I _don’t_ need help. What I _need_ is for you to get out of my face and stop acting as if you’re better than me.”

“There you go!”

“I’m going home.”

“Of course you are. You’re running away from your problems because you’re too scared to admit they exist.”

She rounded on him, her face right in front of his, her eyes burning inches away from his. “That’s not true. I deal with my fucking problems. You think just because I’m not a superhero, I can’t do anything by myself? That I’m weak? Well, newsflash, fucker. I deal with my problems. I just don’t need _you_ around to help. I may not be a hero, but at least I’m brave enough to do things on my own. At least I don’t need someone holding my hand the entire time.”

Peter reeled backwards. “Is that what you think this is about?” he said when he finally found his voice. “You think I need someone holding my hand?”

He could hear her swallow even from a metre away. “I guess we’ll see,” she said, her brown eyes flashing with steel before she blinked and disappeared.

Peter staggered backwards. The backs of his knees hit the sofa and he crumpled, sitting down hard on the creaking springs. A man shouted in the distance, and the sounds of the city carried on around him. His thoughts stood still. A loop of her words and his words.

_I guess we’ll see._

_Running away from your problems._

_Holding my hand._

_What do I have to be scared of?_

He lurched upwards, his body propelling him in the right direction even though his mind was still trapped in the argument. Within seconds he was swinging through the air, vision narrowed by the mask. Karen was speaking in his ear. “Peter, you appear to be in distress. May I call someone for you?”

“No,” he choked out, the brickwork digging into the soles of his feet as he landed on the side of a building. He pushed off, muscles flexing as his arm and the web took his body weight. “Don’t call.”

He wasn’t in distress. _Olivia_ was in distress. _Olivia_ was the one who had benign danger. _Olivia_ had been the one who was hurt and in shock and lying to herself. He dug his fingers into the cracks on the wall, instinct despite now being able to stick to anything. He wanted—needed—purchase. Something to hold on to while the rest of his world fell away.

He started to climb but he could barely see what was in front of him. He just knew—still Queens. Dark street. Empty, especially for New York. He was in the same florid, frantic frenzy as the night Olivia had rescued him. The stab wound felt tight on his abdomen, though it was long gone. He reached the top of the building and threw himself up onto the roof. The night was cold, the last vestiges of the blizzard still swiping through the city. He should be somewhere warm. Warmer. Not on the top of a building with the wind hitting from every angle. And yet he couldn’t drag himself to move.

— _terrified and I don’t even know if I want to be Spider-Man anymore—_

Except for this. There were the earth-shattering, vision-splintering moments where he thought about _space_ and _death_ and _dust_ and _I don’t want to go_ and Spider-Man was the last thing he needed because Spider-Man had got him into that mess but then there were the other earth-shattering, vision-splintering times when he realised that without Spider-Man, he was nothing. Without Spider-Man, he couldn’t save people. And if he had the powers but didn’t use them, he was insulting every memory of Ben and his parents and Ms Romanoff and every person who had died doing the right thing.

And without Spider-Man, he couldn’t come up here, to the very top of the city, and watch the world breathe. There were pedestrians and a few cars. In the distance, a train. Lights in the windows, and the smell of hot dogs and trash and people, and the cold sharp feel of snow. The air that bit at his throat when he took a deep breath, and the buzz of traffic a few streets over. And a sharp scream, high-pitched, cut off after a chilling second.

It woke Peter from his reverie, and he swung towards the noise.

Three men—young, two white, one black, all in dark clothes—and a girl. She was no older than seven, her hair loose around her shoulders, dressed in Captain America pyjamas. One of the men had a gun pointed at her. Another had his hand clapped over her mouth, and an iron grip on her arm. She was wriggling, fighting back. The men were shouting to each other in hushed whispers to get a move on. “Come on, girlie! Just shut up and stop struggling!”

The armed man wasn’t even looking in the right direction when Peter slammed into him, feet first. He hit the wall with a groan and raised his gun, but Peter already had webbing on it and yanked it away. It went clattering over the pavement into the middle of the road. He webbed it to the ground.

The man’s fist came for him, along with a “Fuck off, dickhead”, and Peter ducked. Swept his legs out from under him. His heart was racing so very, very fast, and he had to keep the girl in the corner of his eye.

He webbed the man’s hand to the ground, aimed for his legs, but something flew towards him and he rolled forward out of the way. The second man, his fists raised. “We’ll kill the little girl. We will. We’ll kill her!” he shouted. Peter barely heard him. If they were going to kill her, his Spidey-sense would tell him.

He threw most of his weight into the punch, and the man was out cold before he hit the ground.

He turned towards the third man, his grip still tight on the little girl. A quip was rising to the surface, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Not after what had just happened with Olivia. “You can give me the girl and run, or I can knock you out. Your choice,” he said instead.

The man was shaking. He could see it, even from here. So he wasn’t surprised when the man thrust the girl towards Peter and span. She cried out as she skidded across the pavement, the iron tang of blood rising. Peter caught her, lifted her back to standing. She didn’t even come to his chest. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said, before straightening and throwing out a web. The third man cried out as he was yanked back to the ground, and another web stuck him to the wall.

“Police are on their way,” Karen said in his ear. “Talk to the child.”

He kneeled, making sure to keep an arm’s length between him and the girl. “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo,” he said. _Kiddo._ It always made him feel better when Mr Stark said it. “The bad men are gone now.”

“Who are you?” she whimpered.

It took Peter aback. Most of the kids in Queens—hell, in New York—knew who he was. He’d been in a bunch of newspapers.

But that had been five years ago, Peter realised. That had been before everything. The girl would have been, what, two when that happened? And in the last few months, the papers had had more to report on than a minor superhero coming back, especially when he hadn’t even been doing much super-heroing.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. For once, he didn’t try to make it lower or deeper. He didn’t exactly think that the girl wanted an adult man around. _He_ certainly hadn’t, though the situations hadn’t been the same. Thank god. “I’m an Avenger.”

“I don’t remember you.” She sniffed and wrapped her arms around herself. She was only in her pyjamas, Peter realised. Probably cold. And it wasn’t like he had any jacket or jumper to offer her.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked. She nodded. “Where do you live, then?”

She pointed at the apartment block next door. “Floor five, apartment three,” she recited, as if this was something she’d had to memorise.

“Do you want to swing up with me, or take the stairs?”

She had a confused look on her face as she looked him up and down. Probably didn’t know what he meant by ‘swing’. “Take the stairs,” she said, and started walking. He followed. She was shockingly independent and not as terrified as you would think, for someone who almost just got kidnapped. What had she even been doing out, at ten in the evening?

He followed her up the stairs. They were dirty, even less appealing than the ones in his own apartment block. The girl would sniffle every once in a while and wipe her nose with the back of her hand, but she wasn’t really crying. They came to floor five, apartment three, and she just reached up to open the door.

“Hey, kiddo,” Peter said on a whim, kneeling down to her height. She stepped back towards him, though there was reticence in her features. “If anything bad happens to you—anyone says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable—you fight them, yeah? And you tell someone. And you call for Spider-Man. Don’t let anyone hurt you.” She nodded, though she still looked confused. “I was really impressed with how you fought those guys tonight.” She nodded again, but didn’t say anything.

Peter sighed and stood back up. “Okay, kiddo. The police will probably be over later to talk to you and your parents.” _Mom and dad_ was more kid friendly, but what if she didn’t have a _mom and dad?_ She just nodded again, slipped through the door, and shut it behind her.

He swallowed and looked around before slipping out of a window and swinging across the buildings. “Any info, Karen?” he asked, settling on a flat roof.

“The police have been alerted to the child’s address and the situation, and the relevant video footage has been sent to them. They can handle it perfectly from here,” she said, her voice calm in his ear. “One of the men had a facial match in the criminal database. He has been linked to an alleged child prostitution ring, though no evidence was found. Well done, Peter. This could help in his conviction.”

Peter’s heart clenched. His chest was caving in, collapsing. He couldn’t breathe. “ _Child… what?”_ he choked out. He scrambled sideways, away from the edge of the building, the world around him changing.

Skip Westcott, pulling down a box of magazines.

_Come on, Einstein, don’t you want to play? It’s just a game, after all._

Brad, his hand creeping lower.

_Shh, babe. I know you want this. I know you want me._

Hands. Always, hands. But better to look at the hands than the other things.

_This is what friends do. Stop crying, Peter!_

Olivia, breathing fast—not breathing at all.

_Don’t worry, baby, it doesn’t hurt._

Anger. Fear. An unzipped pair of trousers.

_What do you mean, you don’t like it? I’m your only friend, Parker! You don’t want to lose me, too, do you, Einstein?_

Steel grip, Captain America pyjamas.

_Come on, girlie! Just shut up and stop struggling!_

“—panic attack. Breathe, Peter. One, two, three, four, five. Calling Mr Stark—”

“No!” Concrete, inches in front of his face. He pushed himself up to sitting position and managed to take a breath. “Don’t.”

A pause. “Alright, Peter. Take another breath. One, two, three, four, five. Well done, Peter. And another.”

A pause. The night air was cold against him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

_Westcott is gone. That was ten years ago. Olivia is at home—she’s safe. The girl is safe._ “No thanks—” A hitch in his breath— “Karen. I’m just—gonna go home.”

Gentle voice. “Alright, Peter. Tracking a route back home.”

 

####

 

I kicked the wall as soon as I reappeared back in my bedroom, and then I really regretted it. I groaned, high-pitched like a zombie, but muffled by my lips, shut tight. God damn it. Peter was just so _annoying_. He was Spider-Man. He couldn’t exactly talk about being vulnerable, because at the end of the day, everyone still knew he was competent. But I was useless. If I went around everywhere being saved by people, and then spent the rest of the time complaining about it, then I would be _worse_ than useless.

I could still feel Brad’s fingers on me—still feel the relief when the door had burst open and it was _Peter—_ but couldn’t he just leave it there? He had _saved_ me. And that wasn’t enough for him. Why couldn’t I, just once, do something for _him_? I didn’t _want_ to be useless, to spend my entire time getting shot and kidnapped and waking up in hospital beds and being saved and complaining. I didn’t _want_ to talk to anyone about that panic attack I’d had at the paintball place because they were superheroes. They’d been through crap ten times worse than me. I didn’t have a right to complain, and if I did it would make me seem weaker than I already was.

But Peter just hadn’t been able to drop it. And now _I_ felt like shit, for being such a bitch to him. But couldn’t he just have left me alone?

I ran a hand through my hair and dropped the breastplate onto the floor, kicking it under a pile of clothes that was barely illuminated by my fading blue glow. I unzipped the jacket, hissing as it caught on my skin, before letting it drop to the ground.

The door creaked open and I turned to see a tiny, dark head poking in.

“Morgan!” I whisper-shouted as she edged inside and clicked the door shut behind her. “What are you doing up, little miss?”

“Wanted to see you,” she said, and ran over to me. I pulled my pyjama t-shirt on before lifting her, and sitting on the bed with her on top of me. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” I said, though I was sure it wasn’t true. Yeah, I’d started the night with smokey eyeshadow and mascara and Natasha’s traditional red lipstick, but by now I probably looked like a vampire raccoon. “But you should still be in bed.”

“You’re cross,” she said, choosing to ignore my earlier statement.

“Oh, really?” I asked dryly. She was quite god at picking up on things like that, but she could never figure out why. She was probably going to give some stupid reason for my mood, like ‘an alien crash-landed in the garden and they won’t let you see the spaceship’ or ‘Mommy told Gerald off for eating the goji berries and you think it’s unfair’.

“Yep,” she said. “I can tell because you have cross eyebrows. And I heard you kick something and then swear.”

“Ah,” I nodded, as if she were a master detective. “Genius.”

“You’re not supposed to swear,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “But I’m very cross and I’m a big girl so it’s okay.”

“Are you cross with Peter?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow. Maybe I should shut up about her stupid reasons. “Sort of,” I replied. “We had an argument. But it’s not really him I’m cross with.”

“Why are you cross, then?” she asked, wriggling about.

I almost told her it was nothing, but the earlier, the better, to hear about consent. Kinda. As long as I spared the gory details. “At the party,” I said, “There was a not very nice boy. And he tried to touch me in a not very nice way. And Peter stopped him. And then Peter wanted me to talk to him about it but I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?” she asked, pushing me down so I was lying on my back and she was sitting on my stomach.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’s complicated.”

Morgan nodded matter-of-factly. “And the not very nice boy. Was he the same as the not very nice man who touched Peter in a not very nice way?”

I froze. _Oh, shit._ I was officially the very worst friend. In the world. No, I wasn’t even a friend. Steven Westcott. I hadn’t even thought of that. Of course Peter had been worked up over it. Of course he had been taking it personally. Because the whole thing with Brad had probably reminded him of a much, much worse situation. One that he himself had been in.

“No,” I said to Morgan, though I could barely hear my own voice. “It was a different man. You should… go to bed.”

“Are you going to find Peter and say sorry?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”


	37. flying

 

He wasn’t in his bedroom. It was a mess—clothes stranded on the floor, posters blowing off the walls from the heavy wind through the open window—and I knew where Peter had gone. Or, I knew what he was doing, at least. If I knew where he had gone, then I would’ve been there already. I was staring at #spiderman on my phone, waiting for updates that might point me to his location, but with no luck. The last tweet was from seven hours ago, saying ‘Spiderman can ram me into a wall any day’ with a shaky, hand-held video Spider-Man throwing a criminal at a wall. But that video was from days ago.

There was another option. The tracker in his suit. I was pretty sure I could get access, either from wheedling FRIDAY into it or from hacking, but it felt wrong. A breach of Peter’s trust for me, as well as my dad’s.

Which left my third choice.

Back in my own bedroom, I replaced my jacket and breastplate, and then in the labs my wing set. I squeezed my eyes shut. _Lights spread out beneath me. Air rushing past my face. New York, from above. The faint pink of a closing sunset. Cold, sharp-smelling wind._

It was around me. And I was falling. I didn’t scream, or if I did it was ripped away from me by the wind. Heart racing. Palms sweaty, despite the freezing wind. It cut into my cheeks, leaving them numb. My next suit would have to be warmer.

If I ever got to build another suit.

The city’s lights were approaching faster than I was ready for and the thought _I’m about to die_ managed to shake me from my revery.

Arms in, elbows at my waist, fists by my chin. Thumbs pressed against the switch. The buzz of electromagnets.

Elbows shot out, at right angles to my torso, and the slice of my wings against the air as they followed.

Forearms stretched until my arms are out wide, the wings copying—and then I’m still falling, but now it’s at least a little controlled.

Exhilaration burst in me as I actually, truly soared. The wings were glinting in the corners of my eyes, and I manage to angle them upwards. And I was flying.

Like actually flying.

Like Falcon, with my arms outstretched and the wings mimicking my every movement, as if they were really part of me. The wind was still stinging my face, but I barely noticed it. The city’s lights receded as I was buffeted upwards. My core was tight, almost painfully so, in its effort to keep my body straight.

If I was going to find Peter, I needed to be lower.

I swallowed as I twisted my arms just enough for the wings to be cutting through the air, instead of the wind blowing me upwards, and I fell. Controlled, this time. I was perhaps at the height of the city’s tallest buildings, but the ground approached. Panic shot through me.

Cars. I could actually see the cars.

And I could actually see people. Goddamn _people._

I was too close. I tried to angle my arms back, the wings upward, but it wasn’t enough. Something in the mechanics of the wings wouldn’t budge. They wouldn’t shift back, angle up, enough for the wind to give me upthrust.

I could see the inquisitive shine in a dachshund’s eyes, and hear the shocked, fearful tones of the pedestrians.

_I’m going to crash._

_I should teleport away._ But the images I needed couldn’t quite break through the wall of screaming in my head.

And then something in the wings cracked, and my shoulders were thrown back, and the wind hit me in the face like a truck. I was thrown back, up, and away from the ground. I was coasting, soaring over the buildings like a real bird. Black and white spots bloomed in my vision, but I was alive. And so were all the people down there.

A figure on a rooftop. Rolling. Skintight blue and red, though neither colour was bright enough in the dark. I landed beside him with a thud, my arms snapping through the reverse movements—fists in, elbows down—to slot the wings back in place.

“Peter.”

He hadn’t noticed me.

He was sitting, his back against a low section of wall that bordered the rooftop, his head in his hands. He was rocking. I could hear his breathing. Even the _one, two, three, four, five_ he muttered under his breath.

I took a step closer. He was having a panic attack. I could tell. But—with how I had left it with him—I didn’t want to overstep a boundary, make him panic even more. I should let him know I was there, first. Shouldn’t I? I looked around. This section of roof was surrounded on three sides by a yawning gap, into which one of us could fall, and on the fourth by a solid, if grungy, wall that was part of the same building but evidently a taller part. _That_ was the side I wanted to have Peter at. Not at the edge.

“Peter,” I said again. I just had to coax him towards this fourth side, the side that wasn’t bordered by a gap, so we could at least have a semblance of safety.

I saw his head jerk backwards and hand shoot out and—

I flew back towards the wall and hit it with a thud. The air disappeared out of my lungs. Webbing stuck me to the concrete, a thick strip of it all around my torso.

“Peter, it’s me,” I said once I could breathe. “Olivia.”

There was a pause. Then he stood and took a step back, as if he didn’t want to be near me. “Olivia,” he repeated with a dazed voice. Now, more than ever, I wished I could see his face. He was still, body tense. I could see every curve of his muscle, his posture, ready to fight.

And there was a beat, and he was moving and talking and shaking. “Oh my god Olivia I’m so sorry I didn’t realise it was you let me just get that—” He stopped for only a second while he wrenched a knife through the webbing and brushed off the still-sticking tendrils from my waist. “—I was just a little surprised that’s all and what is it with you Starks and turning up without notice? Not that I don’t want you here it’s not that I don’t want you here—”

“Peter, it’s fine.” _He_ was apologising, after what I’d said to him no more than ten, fifteen minutes ago?

“—but I could’ve really hurt you and I’m so sorry because the tensile strength of that stuff is so high and it was high velocity and—”

“I’m fine, seriously—”

“—and Mr Stark would honestly kill me if I ever hurt you and I’m really sorry because I know—”

“ _Peter_.”

He finally stopped talking and looked at me. But he still had his mask on and I couldn’t see his eyes.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to apologise. Actually—” _It’s me who should be apologising._ The words were in my head. They were on my lips already. And whatever was holding me back—whatever _always_ held me back from shit like this—whether it was my pride or my fear or my stupid inner sense of superiority, it had to go. Because Peter needed me. “It’s me who should be apologising,” I said.

Peter was silent for another second, before asking, “For what?”

I tried to keep my frown back. “For not—for not thinking about how you were feeling when we argued. I just—I was so totally wrapped up in what I was thinking and how I wanted to feel that I forgot about you, and I was selfish and self-absorbed and stupid and—I’m sorry.” My chest felt like it was about to cave in. One voice was screaming in my head _Stupid idiot! Why on earth would you say that? It just makes you look weak and useless,_ and the other part was saying, _What’s wrong with being weak and useless every once in a while?_

Maybe weak and useless was what Peter needed.

Or maybe I was just making all this up and he actually was fine, but had just decided I was too massive a bitch to be worth his time.

Peter turned away and started kicking the tiny pieces of gravel on the floor into a corner. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine,” he said, as a stone scattered over the cement and came to land on the pile.

I was pretty sure I heard my heart crack a little. “You don’t have to talk to me,” I said, staring down at my hands. “I know I was—selfish.” _Don’t make this into a pity party, Stark._ “But you don’t have to be fine, and I shouldn’t have acted like it was all about me. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“What happened to you when you were a kid wasn’t okay and you don’t have to pretend it was.”

“I’m not pretending.” He looked at me, the eyes of his mask infuriatingly stoic. I was tempted to say it wasn’t fair that he could see me and I couldn’t see him, but I held it in. We were on Peter’s ground now, figuratively. Whatever he wanted to do, I couldn’t criticise. “I just—I was just about to go home.”

_Home._ Home sounded good right now.

“I can take you.” I held out my hand, fingers splayed. I knew it had sounded almost like a question. Unsure, as I never was. I didn’t care. “If you want. No travel time.”

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he jumped off the building and left me on the rooftop as he swung back to his apartment. But after a heartbeat of hesitation—his or mine, I didn’t know—he stepped forward and laced his fingers through mine. I had to swallow, and I let my eyes fall shut and the feeling of _Peter_ and _home_ and _Star Wars May Ned sleepover_ materialise in my head. When I opened my eyes, we were, once again, standing in Peter’s bedroom. It was lit by the moonlight from the window and blue glow of my skin, though little was showing under the suit and the colour faded faster every time.

Peter let my hand drop back to my side as he crossed to the window, pulling it shut and pulling then blind down too. We were plunged into even further almost-darkness, only teardrops of light still making their way through the edges of the blind. My glow had disappeared almost entirely.

He was moving with lethargy. As if he was deadly, achingly tired inside. It made a lump grown in my throat. I didn’t know how to make this better. This wasn’t something I could fix. What Westcott had done to him—what Brad had reminded him of today—it wasn’t something I could make disappear. I couldn’t pull out a wrench or a nanotech 3D printer and make it all okay again. And it _scared_ me. How was I supposed to deal with this? How was I supposed to _help_ Peter, when I barely understood what was going on?

“Would you like me to leave?” I asked.

Peter was silent. I didn’t know what I wanted the answer to be. Part of me thought it would be better if I could go back home, go to sleep knowing Peter had told me to leave. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not when he was like this. Not when he wasn’t okay. He shook his head.

“I really am sorry,” I said again. I was standing exactly where I’d been when I first appeared. Hadn’t moved a muscle. One week of me avoiding him, and suddenly _this_ happened? Where was the fluidity, the honesty, that we had formed? “And I’m sorry I didn’t see you enough this week. That was my fault. You didn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He just nodded again, and fell onto the bunkbed. He was still sitting, but I felt like he should be lying down. He should be sleeping. But guiltily, I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to say he forgave me. I didn’t deserve it.

“You didn’t either,” he said and I almost melted at his voice. It sounded—normal. Dead inside. Blank. But normal. Was that good, or bad? “I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about it.”

“No. It’s fine. Bad situation, I guess. And we were probably too stressed to be talking about it.” I let out an awkward laugh. Stupid timing. It didn’t break the tension like I’d hoped it would.But what he had said—beside the fact that it was stupid that he was trying to apologise—gave me the courage to ask, “Can I take this off?” and gesture to his mask.

He nodded. I stepped forward and let my fingers drift to the back of his neck where the suit met the mask. I peeled it upwards and it loosened, slipping off. I let it fall to the floor.

Dizziness washed through me at the sight of him. His eyes were red and blotched in the way that only came from intense, panicked crying. He looked up at me, jaw tight, and the candle flame of anger that burned in my stomach for Steven Westcott grew into an inferno. _Not now,_ I said to myself.

I would have time to hunt and kill the abomination later. But now was for Peter, in whatever form that took.

“Can we go to the fire escape?” he asked, and relief washed through me. It had been in the back of my mind, but I hadn’t wanted to ruin the place if he associated it with Ben. But now that he’d asked, I knew it was okay.

I nodded, and pulled the blankets off his bed as he yanked on a t-shirt and jeans, hidden behind his open wardrobe door. I wasn’t going to let him freeze like the last time, as nice as that impromptu sofa-sharing had been. I followed him silently through the hallway and the window, and settled in the same place as last time. I couldn’t lean back against the wall comfortably with the wings still on my back, so I pulled them off and settled the backpack in front of me. I couldn’t tell if Peter had seen the wings, whether he’d been lucid enough to realise what they meant, but I tucked my legs over them anyway.

I went to wrap the blankets around him and he flinched. His eyes were on my hands. Fearful, wide eyes.

I let him take the blankets and wrap them around himself, instead.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked when it became clear that he wasn’t going to initiate the conversation himself.

His gaze was angled downwards, but he glanced up at the sky. He nodded, jerkily. _Thank god,_ I thought. “I thought I was over it,” he said, “But I wasn’t. And now—” He gasped, the breath ragged. “—I don’t know—what to do.”

“Hey, hey hey hey,” I said, twisting to look at him. I wanted to reach out, to hug him or just touch him but I couldn’t. Sexual assault. With this amount of fear, of pain in him right now, I didn’t know if touch would just send him into a deeper spiral. “I bet there are gonna be better days, and worse days. And with what happened earlier, it’s understandable that you’re finding this difficult.” I chose every word carefully, like I was fitting them into a jigsaw puzzle. “But you just have to remember that I’m fine. And you’re fine. And if it would make you feel better, we can, like, talk to the school about what happened. And then it won’t happen again.”

He was just staring straight ahead, his shoulders too still. Lips clammed together like he wasn’t breathing.

“Breathe,” I reminded him, and he nodded. There was a ripping gasp, like a choke, and he sucked the air in sharp. A jagged breath out, and then in. Out, and it was easier. He let his head fall back against the bricks.

“There was this girl,” he said after a moment, “That I saved just now. She was being kidnapped. Six or seven, maybe. Same age as I was when it all happened. And I just—it kills me that there are other kids going through it too, you know? If I was the only one then maybe it would be alright but I’m not, and—” He broke off.

“It would never be alright, Peter,” I said. “You’re just as important as every other kid in this city. More important than them, at least to me. You’ve been through so much shit, and deserve to be happy more than anyone. I know you’re too good a person to be selfish, but you need to know that you are special and you are loved and you are allowed to take a break.”

His gaze slid to me, and I could feel my cheeks heating, but I didn’t let my eyes fall because this was Peter and he was kind and good and honest and unfailingly selfless but every once in a while he needed to put himself first. And he needed to know that he was one of the best things in my life, in everyone’s lives, and he couldn’t throw himself away on every enemy, on any enemy, because—

“I need you,” I said. The words fell between us, and I didn’t know if they were going to be a bridge or a wall. “We all do. You are kind and selfless and you’re always trying to be better and I’m just rambling now so I think I should shut up but my point is that—you’re the best person I know, Peter. You physically couldn’t be any better than you are. And I know what I’m saying is stupid and you probably don’t need to hear it but you’re allowed to hurt and you’re allowed to be hurt and it doesn’t make you any less of a hero, Peter.”

My cheeks were properly burning now. _God, that’s embarrassing._ What was I even talking about? It was as if someone had made a playlist of every thought I’d ever had about Peter Parker and just pressed shuffle, without caring which of them would be remotely helpful, or relevant.

But— “Thanks,” he said, glancing down. God, he looked so young. He was such a hero, so strong and determined and selfless that sometimes I forgot he was only a year older than I was. “I actually—I did need to hear that.”

I smiled at him and he smiled back, the red of his eyes disappearing under their crinkling. “Are those wings?” he said after a second, his gaze shifting to the black pack beside me.

“Um,” was all I said. There wasn’t really a reasonable explanation as to why I was carrying around a lump of carbon-fibre and urethane polymers with backpack-like straps, only a hundred times stronger.

“That’s not just a costume, is it?” He eyed my outfit, with its black breastplate, and temperature-controlled, shock-absorbing, extremely flexible jacket and pants.

“Yes?” I tried, though my heart wasn’t in it.

He gave me a look. “Are you going to try the ‘I’ll be irresponsible anyway, but at least if I trust you, you can make sure I don’t die’ strategy?”

I sighed. “No, I actually wasn’t.” He was too smart for that now. And I was done being anything but honest with Peter. If I was going to go after the Mandarin, I wanted to do it with his blessing. “Come on,” I said as I stood. “Unless you were planning on sleeping, I can show you the designs. There’s something I need to fix, anyway.”

He actually grinned as he stood, the blankets still wrapped around him. This time, he took my hand without me asking, and electricity shot up me at the contact. He wasn’t wearing his suit anymore, and it was skin against skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was glowing. “Being a superhero is too dangerous for you,” he said, tough I could tell it wasn’t with his usual conviction.

“Good thing I’m not planning on being a superhero, then,” I replied, and he just gave me a look before we disappeared.


	38. Chapter 38

I settled the mask on my face and it stuck. I shook my head around, though, perched on a branch near the top of a very tall tree, I couldn’t be that vigorous, and it didn’t budge. The cold metal was like a second skin.

“How do I look?” I turned to Peter.

He grinned, his eyes on my mask rather than me. “Badass. And totally not like you.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended that you’re saying I don’t usually look badass, or pleased that we achieved the intended effect.” I looked in one of the plates of my wings. The sliding mechanisms had been sorted in my lab (by Peter, though I had at least been paying attention while I was busy with the mask) and the surface was shiny enough to act as a mirror. The cold sheet of black ceramic alloy curved over my face, all soft lines and sharp planes. Like a Venetian mask, it surrounded my eyes, but on the left side of my face, it arched down to the jaw, narrowing to just below the ear, and on the right side it stretched upwards, tapering into my hair line. The glossy, polished black offered the perfect contrast to the matte of my suit.

“You know what I mean,” Peter replied. “You look more badass than normal. You look like Ms. Romanov.”

I smiled. “That _is_ a compliment.”

“ _You guys ready to go?_ ” MJ asked over comms.

“Ready,” I replied. “See y’all in a minute.”

I spread my wings and jumped. In the corner of my eye, Peter flinched towards me, but I smiled. I’d been practising. Not much, admittedly, in the week since I’d first flown, but enough that I knew I could do this.

Coasting over a super-secret terrorist base.

Easy, huh?

The buildings were dark, and it didn’t help that I was forced to stay above the tree-line. There were a few different sections, no one of the buildings big enough to break up the forest noticeably, but this had been listed as the largest of the Mandarin’s suspected buildings.

“Five sub levels detected,” TUESDAY confirmed in my ear.

“Geez, five?” Peter said. “That’s a lot.”

“Can’t see anything from up here,” I replied. “Just a few buildings. No lights on. No movement. Nothing.” If Peter and I hadn’t been sat up in the trees two hours ago when a dark car appeared, dropped off three passengers, and disappeared again, we might have thought it was empty. Which left the question, could _they_ see _us?_ “How do I look, Spider-Man?” I asked.

There was spluttering on the comms. “Um—great—what—”

I rolled my eyes. “I _meant,_ can you see me, or am I as invisible as we planned?”

“Oh.” A pause. “No, you’re good. I mean, I see a little glinting from the wings, but it’s not really noticeable. It’s just ‘cause I know you’re there.”  
“Perfect.” I’d had Peter carry me up to the top of the tree rather than just teleporting purposefully to avoid the blue glow. We weren’t here for a fight. We were here for reconnaissance, and I wouldn’t let anything mess it up.

I soared back towards the tallest tree, a few branches above Peter, and snapped my wings away just a second too early. My feet scrambled against the branch, but my sudden weight was too much and I fell. Pine needles scraped against my cheek and my stomach lurched. I grabbed out for the branch but it was already too far away. A scream rose in my throat— _don’t scream now—_ and was ready to burst out when warm hands caught me.

I let out an _oof_ at the jarring momentum, but Peter didn’t fall. His black mask was on, part of the newest ‘stealth suit’, but I could feel his gaze on me. I realised a second later that we _were_ still falling; only, this time, Peter’s webs controlled our fall. We’d needed to come down anyway, I realised. My initial spying was done. Now it was time for the _real_ mission.

A tiny scuffing noise was the only indication that we’d hit the ground.

“Um, thanks,” I said, and he let me down, waiting until my feet were solidly on the dirt before he let go. I straightened my jacket, tightened the hair tie at the end of my braid, and steadied myself on the tree trunk before turning back towards the huddle of buildings. “Right then. Shall we?”

“Ladies first,” he replied, the tiniest shake in his voice, and I gave him a sideways glance. This was pretty much the first time Peter had done anything like this. Petty criminals any day, and straight on confrontations he was used to. But infiltration? Not his thing, I gathered. Which was a shame, given his skill set.

“Thanks,” I replied, the sarcasm in my voice not as obvious as it should be. I took a step forward, trying to keep myself in the shadows. With both of us wearing all black, the biggest issue would be sound. If they heard us, we were screwed. Yes, I could get us both out of there within the blink of an eye, but I’d already screwed up that day in San Francisco. They would be on alert. And if they suspected anything out of the ordinary at _this_ base, we’d never get in.

And we needed to get in. They’d either have Extremis here, or have the records of where it actually was.

I edged forward. The nearest building—the one TUESDAY singled out as the secondary entrance—was perhaps thirty feet away, with trees offering us cover until the very edge. Twenty feet, ten feet, we were almost there and—

The door swung open. Something yanked me backwards and a warm body pressed against me. My back was flush against the tree, the ridges of the bark digging into my skin even through the suit, and my front was flush against Peter’s. He was just tall enough that my face was level with his shoulder, and I could barely angle myself to see his face given how close together we were. He was focussed on the door. I could hear the murmur of voices, could smell the smoke of cigarettes, but the noise grew further away with each second.

“Quick reflexes,” I muttered quietly as possible, knowing he would hear.

I felt him shrug against me. “Peter tingle.”

The term almost managed to make me smile, despite our position. Or situation, rather, because this _position_ certainly wasn’t too bad. I could feel the curves and steel of his muscles.

After a second, he stepped back, though there were still only inches between us. I twisted my body in the gap between Peter and the tree and peeked out to see two figures, carrying something behind them as they walked away from us. No, pulling, I realised. A gurney.

“Is that—a body bag?” I whispered, horror filling my tones.

Peter just nodded. I couldn’t see his features through the mask, but I knew that his eyes would be just as wide as mine. Fear filled my stomach, an unusual sensation, but—Peter.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” I said, studying him. “I mean, they’re _killing_ people? We’re just two kids, Peter. This could be above us.”

“I’m going in there,” he said and continued staring past the tree towards the building.

“But Peter—this is dangerous. I mean—”

“That was a _body_ bag, Olivia. They could be doing anything down there, and I can’t just let it happen. I agree that you should go home. But I’m going in there. I have to help.”

I swallowed. “No way in hell am I going home if you’re going in there.”

The comms crackled. “Um, guys? If you’re gonna do it, I’d say do it now, because TUESDAY says that door didn’t close properly, and we’re already lucky that they’re cocky enough it’s not guarded, so it’s probably a good idea to get in there now and take advantage of it—”

Peter and I were already moving, staying low and crouching behind trees, but moving. The door was, indeed, stuck open, with a particularly thick twig jammed between the door and the threshold. Peter stepped forward, but I put out a hand to hold him back.

“Ladies first,” I reminded him, and he gave me a look that I couldn’t see, but let me step forward. We’d discussed this. Me first, and him with a hand touching me at all times, so we could disappear if we needed to. It was a fine line between holding the image of home in my head, and not letting it consume me. This could be our only chance. We had to make it count. If we _could_ take out any soldiers without being discovered, that was better than disappearing but putting them on alert.

The stairwell was dark, courtesy of the light switch we left flipped off at the top. But I could feel metal surrounding us, as if it was in some kind of submarine. The steps felt like they were made of some kind of grating, and they were rickety. You’d think a terrorist would make more of an effort. After all, they were all about appearance.

Well. _Most_ terrorists were all about appearance. This one, however, actually had the firepower to back up his threats with the Extremis.

We took about ten stairs, Peter’s touch light on my shoulder, before they hair-pinned and were going in the other direction. At the bottom of that set was a door with a massive metal wheel on it, again like a submarine. The stairs continued on, as well.

I glanced back at Peter. He shrugged. “MJ?” I whispered. “Anything?”

A few seconds, then: “TUESDAY’s got three rooms, each filled with explosive devices, as well as six dudes with guns. I love being violently murdered as much as the next psycho, but if I were you, I’d move on to the next level.”

We shared another glance, and I _really_ hated that I couldn’t see his eyes. There _were_ four more sub-levels, anyway. We could always come back to this one. I silently edged around the corner and continued downwards. At the next door MJ said, “Medical equipment. TUESDAY’s got beds, MRI scanners, x-ray machines, and tons of other stuff.No heat signatures, though. Their version of the school nurse, I guess.”

“Or the hub of Extremis action,” I muttered. I’d been in one of those hospital beds. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the corpse rolled out upstairs was from some kind of trialling. “I’m going in.”

Peter twisted the door’s wheel towards him and I pressed my back against the wall. There was a knife sheathed against each of my thighs, but it was right about now that I was wishing I had some sort of real weapon. If I had an arc reactor, I could power repulsers, but Dad had made sure that I couldn’t access _that_ tech since the last time I’d stolen one of his suits. I’d shied away from guns (which we didn’t have, anyway) and figured that the knives were probably safer on my thighs than in my hands.

This was just in and out, anyway. No heat signatures, MJ had said. So really, going in there was safer than being in the corridor. The door swung inwards and I slipped inside, hands on my knives, Peter still pressed against the wall in the stairwell.

The first thing I saw was a security camera, focussed right on the door.

I slammed the door back closed, instinct only saving me from giving Peter away too. I just about managed to disguise the movement as in surprise rather than with any specific purpose.

“ _Let me in,”_ Peter complained over comms.

I looked around. The room was pretty empty, only two rows of medical beds on my left and a blank wall on my right. Another door led out of the far side, but it was closed. I stepped towards the camera and studied it before pulling a knife out of the sheath and cutting the wires.

No microphone.

I didn’t suspect that was the only camera in the room, but at least with no microphones I could talk. “Sorry, _”_ I whispered to Peter, ducking my head to hide my mouth.“I slipped.” And with Peter unable to see my face, I could lie. “The door’s jammed. You go on, I’ll get the door and follow you.”

“ _No_ ,” Peter said, his voice frantic, and I heard the scraping of the door’s wheel again. “ _I’m not leaving you here.”_

I hurried back to the door and stuck my knife into the locking mechanism. The tumblers caught at the last second.

It was as if my brain was separated into two parts. One was shaking and screaming _Get out! Get out! Get Peter out!_ , but the other part—the one driving the car, the one that controlled me—was calm. Ready for this. And while it still wanted Peter to get out of the danger zone, it knew that _I_ couldn’t get out. With security cameras, they would definitely know I’d been here. And if they knew I’d been here, I had to finish up now, soon, because we couldn’t count on getting in a second time.

The calm part also knew that even if Peter wasn’t going to leave the building, he had to get away from me, because I was who the guards would be coming for. And Peter wouldn’t leave the building. Both parts of me knew that, because if the roles were reversed, _I_ wouldn’t leave _him_.

“Seriously, Peter,” I said, tiptoeing over to the medical beds. “Get down to the next floor. I’ll follow in a sec, but we need to be quick here. And hurry up. Remember to stay out of sight.”

I let my second knife trail over the brown leather of the medical bed. It would be nice to rip it apart. It would be even nicer if I could rip apart the actual bed that I’d been strapped to.

The scraping of the door’s wheel stopped. “ _I really do hate you_ ,” Peter said. “ _You know that, right?”_

I let out a breathy laugh. “Yep. Now, go.”

The tiniest clang of metal footsteps disappearing and I let out a sigh. The further away Peter was from me, the safer he was. In a second, I would hear the tell-tale thumps of military footsteps as guards poured into the room, having seen the CCTV footage and ready to kill me. And at that second, I could teleport away. But not before. I had to buy Peter as much time as possible to get away, even if it was to a lower floor.

“ _What really happened?”_ MJ asked.

I laughed again. “What do you mean?”

_“I can tell when you’re lying. And that was lying. The door’s fine, you just can’t go through it. What happened? We’re on a private link, you might as well tell me.”_

I swallowed. “Cameras. The guards will be coming for me in a sec. Peter would’ve insisted on staying and fighting, but if he goes to a lower floor, he’ll be out of the way. Hopefully find something worthwhile. Then I can teleport us both out of here.”

A buzz of static. “ _That’s pretty dangerous, Olivia.”_

“Nah. Not really. I’ll just teleport away.”

_“But you won’t know what it looks like, down where he is.”_

_No. But I won’t be teleporting to a location. I’ll be teleporting to Peter._ I almost said the words out loud but Peter’s voice cut in.

“ _I’m at the door. What’s in there, MJ?”_

 _“Computers,”_ she replied, the comms now open. “ _Only one heat sig. Looks promising. Do you have my data stick?”_

_“Yep. Liv, how’s the door?”_

“I’m working on it. Remember, there might be cameras. Stay out of sight.”

_“Obviously. Can’t believe the daughter of Iron Man, practically raised by the Avengers, has been defeated by a door.”_

“Savage,” I commented, and pulled my knife out of the door. It wasn’t even mangled. A testament to the metal work. The part of me simmering beneath the surface, the part that wanted to scream, was terrified by the tiny scratches on the metal. The part that was managing to think and talk and rationalise told me that the scratches meant nothing. It was still a knife. It still wouldn’t be very nice to have stuck in your gut.

“ _I’m inside,_ ” Peter said. “ _One person was here, but he’s unconscious. I’ll get your memory stick in, MJ. Hurry up, Liv!”_ He sounded happy. Pleased. Like he actually thought this would go off without a hitch.

And that was perfect: that meant that he could get the information, hopefully some time in the next three minutes, and I could teleport down to him and then get us both out. He didn’t suspect anything, which meant he didn’t have to get involved with the soldiers that I was pretty sure would be coming at some point.

And then I heard the footsteps.

So, a knife in each hand, I backed away from the door. Peter didn’t have three minutes. He had perhaps thirty seconds, at most.

The footsteps were heavy. The door crashed open, bouncing off the wall and back, but there were already men pouring into the room. They were dressed in black, outfits so similar to mine, but with helmets and machine guns. Massive machine guns.

Two, then four, then six. Eight in total, lined up along the wall.

I held my knives out.

They hadn’t shot yet. And the longer before I teleported away, the longer Peter had to get that info. _Or,_ said a third voice that was neither scared nor rational, _you could fight them._

They had guns. It was absurd. I would never stand a chance.

But I could teleport. Be out of the way of the bullets before anyone even had a chance to shoot me. Plunge the knives into their necks and disappear. But could I kill?

I didn’t know.

And any millisecond of hesitation would cost me very dearly.

I gripped my knives tighter. The blades pointed down from the handles, ready to swipe or stab. The eight soldiers were motionless, their faces hidden by the helmets and guns. Perfectly still, like statues. If statues could kill.

“What do you want?” I asked. It was a stupid question. I had just broken into their base, and I wanted to know what they wanted? But it was a question all the same, and it would buy a few seconds. Every moment I spent in that room was another moment to get shot, but I needed Peter’s confirmation first.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment? How rude.” I rolled my back, my shoulders, ready to stab.

“ _Files downloaded,”_ Peter’s voice buzzed over the comms. My heart was flooded with relief. I could get out of here. I just had to get to Peter first.

 _Peter._ I let the image of him fill my mind. The feel of the callouses on his hands, the smell of his laundry powder. _Peter._ I could feel myself about to disappear when a voice filled the room.

“Not so hasty, Ms Stark-Hansen,” it said.

I opened my eyes. Nothing had changed. Each of the eight soldiers was still motionless. But which of them had spoken?

“I’m on your left,” it said, and I turned. There was no one. But a tiny glint at the top of the wall, and I saw the speaker. Whoever was speaking wasn’t actually here.

“Yes, I know who you are. Now, let’s have a little chat, shall we?”


	39. Documents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter! Finally! This bad boy took like three days to write but it's finally here. Enjoy!

My palms were sweating. No matter how tight I gripped the handles of the knives, I knew I couldn’t fight. Even forgetting that the sum total of my training was a few self-defence lessons from Natasha spread over five years, I was too panicked. I couldn’t kill. Couldn’t plunge a blade through skin, muscle, flesh, and know it would end someone’s life.

“ _Livia_?” Peter asked. “ _Can we get out of here, please? This place reminds me of the wampa’s lair. I feel like a massive snow monster is about to come round the corner and eat me, 70’s CGI and all.”_

Stupid Peter and his stupid Star Wars references. I wanted to point out that the wampa’s lair was at least a tiny bit colder than this, but I couldn’t give him away. Couldn’t show to the soldiers anything that might make them put out another search. They were still just staring at me, eight guns trained with deadly accuracy, despite them only being fifteen feet away.

“May I call you Olivia?” asked the voice. Male, middle-aged, American. Familiar, but in the way that all boring voices managed to sound like someone you knew.

It was disconcerting, having no person to size up. “Only if I can call you Secret-Voice-In-The-Ceiling’.” It was disconcerting, having no person to size up. My fight-or-flight response was ready, but I didn’t know who I was running from or stabbing. _Just get out of here._ I knew I should. _Get Peter and get out._

But a voice—someone who was _talking_ to me—just offered another opportunity for information.

“ _Livia_?” Peter repeated.

He’d come up here at some point trying to figure out what had happened. I couldn’t exactly wait until that happened and he was shot, but—

“Well, Olivia, you’re bolder than I thought. I knew you would try again, but I can’t say I expected it to be any time soon. But then, you Starks are all the same; you’re too stubborn and arrogant to back down from a challenge. Not that I have anything against your father,” he rushed on, if a voice that calm and sure could rush. “In fact, I have the highest respect for him. He built himself an empire, and for now he’s the most powerful man in the world.”

I’d always had trouble matching Dad, with bad jokes and greying hair and a habit of making useless inventions, with ‘most powerful man in the world’, probably because as a child I’d been kept out of every room in which he so much as took a phone call, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

“For now?” I asked, my eyes still roaming the ceiling. It was instinct, despite the fact that the voice probably came from miles away. “Is that supposed to mean that someone else is coming to take that spot?”

A pause, as if he was considering what to say. Then: “All empires fall at some point. But that’s not what I’m here for. I find that the way the world is being run at the moment is just dandy. Besides, I don’t care about power.”

“You, or the Mandarin?”

Peter was talking in my ear but I couldn’t listen to what he said. I needed to get out of here soon—but I needed as much information as I could get. I heard the tones of MJ’s voice before both fell silent.

“I _am_ the Mandarin, Ms Stark.”

I frowned. The ‘Mandarin’ of 2013 had been an actor. Aldrich Killian, the real perpetrator, had been killed. And the group around him had crumbled—or so we thought.

“Of course,” the voice continued, “That is what our group’s last leader thought as well. Aldrich Killian thought himself irreplaceable, and he died. Yet here we stand. Just goes to show that nobody is really that important. If I die, it doesn’t matter. You can’t stop us. I would very much prefer that you leave us alone. I would hate for you to die, Ms Stark.”

I cracked a smile. So I was talking directly to the ‘leader’. And now I knew that they were actively working towards something. Not just half-heartedly breaking into banks and holding school kids hostage. “Why, because you’re scared of my daddy?”

“Oh, no.” The voice sounded genuine. “Nothing like that. From what I hear, your father’s daily duties at the moment are babysitting and making dinner. I don’t think he’s quite up to guerrilla warfare. However, someone I know would be quite upset if you were hurt.”

“So, you’re working for someone. Why do they care what happens to me?” After all, his people had kidnapped me. Come close to killing me. A few weeks ago, they hadn’t had any problem with putting a bullet in my brain. What had changed?

“I think I might have said too much. Just know, Olivia, that what I do, I do out of love. As I’m sure you know, love is stronger than anything. There’s no point trying to stop me.”

I rolled my shoulders. “Then I think we’re at what’s called a ‘checkmate’, because I’m not backing down either. Not while you’re still wheeling corpses out of your terrorist bases and kidnapping school children.”

“Science requires test subjects, Olivia. Your father is an Avenger. He has saved countless lives. And yet he wouldn’t have been able to do that if he hadn’t first killed thousands. Tens of thousands. It’s called a trade, Ms Stark. That’s all this is.”

_“Livvy, get out,”_ I heard. Peter, his voice tight with warning and fear. He knew where I was, what was happening. Within seconds, he’d be bashing down the doors, running right into the line of fire. I had to get him out.

But one more question. “What do you want?”

“I want to heal the world. I want to watch people live.” He sighed, a heavy sound, as if he was actually tired. _Of what?_ I wanted to ask. He didn’t have any right to be tired. His henchmen _killed_ people. “And I want all that too much to risk it.”

The intercom’s buzzing stopped, like the feed had been cut. There was a tiny, imperceptible shift in the soldiers. The adjustment of a shoulder, the grounding of a foot as they steadied themselves. It was enough. I pulled the image to the forefront of my mind— _Peter_ —and disappeared.

Only, I still heard the crack of the bullets, loud as if they’d been right next to me. There should have been a thick metal floor between me and the guns by now, but I opened my eyes and there was a gun’s barrel right in front of me.

Time slowed.

I ducked on instinct and swept my leg around. The person toppled, the gun clattering, metal-on-metal. I spun and lashed out, my fist connecting with flesh. There was a grunt, then another crack. Something yanked me backwards and I flailed as I flew through the air.

“It’s me, idiot,” Peter grunted as he caught me. His arms were around my waist but the momentum carried us backwards. In slow motion, we fell, and the barrage of gunfire began. I squeezed my eyes shut.

When we landed, it was on MJ’s bed.

I stared up at the ceiling. Beige-white. Nice ceiling. The walls were a more disgusting pale brown, and I knew without looking that the carpet was, again, beige.

“MJ, do you want some help redecorating?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the fact that I was lying on top of Peter.

There was a choking sound and something hit me in the gut. MJ, I realised, letting the knives fall from my hands. She wrapped her arms around both of our necks, her weight falling on us. “I thought you were fucking dead,” she hissed. “I was gonna have to tell your parents what happened! And Aunt May! And—I was going to have to tell _Pepper Potts_ that I _killed_ her daughter!”

I groaned as I pulled myself off Peter and to a sitting position. “You _wouldn’t_ have killed me. I refuse to be killed by anything weaker than my own stupidity.” MJ’s arms were still locked around me. I hadn’t taken her for the hugging type, but in the face of death, I guess everything changed? Or MJ was just a secret hugger. That was a question for another day. “Besides, I’m offended that you think the _telling_ would be worse than the fact that you’d have to live on an earth without me.”

“That would be the best bit,” she replied. Good to see she hadn’t lost her snark. She loosened, and I finally got to look around the room. And at Peter. He was staring at me as if I’d just offered him a million dollars, the blank eyes of his goggles flipped up.

“What just happened?” he asked, pulling his mask off. His hair was adorably mussed, his eyes wide and staring. His cheeks were flushed with adrenaline.

“Um, I saved your life?” I tried. “And we’re all alive? And—uninjured?”

“That’s actually really lucky,” MJ cut in, “That you’re uninjured, I mean, besides for the obvious reasons. But mainly because Brad’s dad isn’t home so we would have to go to an actual hospital, so…” She offered us an awkward thumbs up. “Well done for not getting shot?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You called Brad?”

“Snapchatted, actually. And yes, when I realised you were probably going to come back with at least one bullet hole, I snapchatted him to find out where he was. Brad said he didn’t know. And yes, it was hard to say anything to Brad that wasn’t a death threat. So, again, good job? Now I don’t have to be in the same room as him.”

I rolled my eyes. How was _one person_ simultaneously adorable and soft, but also cuttingly dry and sarcastic?

“Whatever. We’re fine.” I pushed off the bed and settled instead in MJ’s desk chair, setting my mask and wings down. Her headset was on the desk next to her various computers, each with strings of code. “Peter, do you have the memory stick?”

He dropped it into my outstretched palm. “But hang on,” he said, “What’s this about Brad’s dad? Why would we be going to Brad’s dad? What’s Brad’s dad got to do with this? Because I personally don’t particularly like Brad so if we’re gonna be going to his house then—”

“Chill, dude.” I slid the memory stick into the console. “We don’t have to see Brad’s dad. It’s just that he’s a doctor, so if we got—Ah!” The screen flashed, and file names spread down the screen. I glanced back at MJ, who was now draped across the bed, one arm propping her head up. “Is this it? No more hacking?”

She shook her head. “All the hacking happened at the other end with the data stick that Peter put in. Didn’t want them sneaking a wyrmling into the package and tracking me.”

“You hackers use the weirdest names,” I muttered, scanning the files. They were numbers or codes, rather than straight out files. What had I been expecting: ‘ _All our evil plans, part 1’?_

A finger appeared in front of my screen, pointing to a file labelled ‘ _XM-05-5943’_. “That one,” Peter said. He was leaning over me, his toned arms creating a cage as he hijacked my mouse and clicked the link himself.

A dozen more links appeared down the screen. Peter clicked the top one, and a plain text file opened. It was filled with legal jargon and complicated words, but I got the gist of it. “They’re planning on… _selling_ the Extremis?”

Peter’s breath brushed my neck and I shivered. “They already have buyers. For medical care in China.” Peter’s tone rose at the end of the sentence like a question.

“But—I don’t understand. It’ll kill them. It’s a weapon, not medicine. It could blow them up.”

“Maybe they don’t know that. I mean—maybe it’s a mistake, right? So we just point out to them that it’s not ready for use yet, and then the deal will be off.”

I looked at Peter. His eyes were wide again, panicked. “Do you really believe that?”

He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he glanced down. “No.”

I turned back to the screen, closed the window and opened the next. A document, again, filled with photos and diagrams. Scientific labels and latin terms were spread across the pages. All thirty-seven pages. I couldn’t exactly understand the writing, so I turned to the photos.

And I wished I hadn’t.

The photos were filled with burning, blistering body parts: the ends of arms and legs with boils the size of tennis balls and black, charred flesh. Glistening orange skin that looked like it was glazed with syrup. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what the liquid actually was. All the photos came in pairs: one after the injury, and one before. Except—it wasn’t one after the injury and one before the injury; it was one before the Extremis and one after.

“I thought you said it didn’t work.”

I glanced back. MJ had moved from the bed to right behind me, peering over my right shoulder. “It doesn’t,” I replied and looked back at the screen. “Or at least, I didn’t think it did. It regenerated the limbs, but not without the side effects. And only 2% of people would survive the process.” I was part of that 2%—and apparently, so were all of these people in the photos. “But it doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Even if they _did_ survive, they’d be burning up. I mean, I’m compatible and I still had fevers, hallucinations, and my skin was glowing. But in these photos—they look normal. As if nothing happened.”

“Maybe they just took the second round of photos way later,” Peter suggested, his eyes still scanning from side to side down the document,

“I don’t think so.” I pointed to the bottom right corner of each photo. The time stamps showed that each pair was only minutes apart. The limbs had regrown in minutes, and the skin wasn’t glowing or blistering or on fire. Not the crust of ash-like regrowth that usually lasted a few minutes. “This isn’t how it worked before.”

“Do either of you speak Latin?” Peter asked, scrolling down the pages.

“Why would either of us speak Latin?” I replied.

“Well,” Peter said, “Right now it would be pretty useful. They use it a lot in medicine and stuff, don’t they?”

I pushed the chair back and strode across the room, running a hand through my hair. “We need to know what this means. And we can’t exactly go to our friendly neighbourhood latin teacher.”

“Google translate?” Peter had nabbed my spot in the chair and was now leaning back in it,watching me. MJ was still crouched by the computer, reading through the text. “Or we could get a latin dictionary?”

I gave him a look. “Google translate? _Really_? Besides, I don’t think the latin’s gonna be the hardest bit. It’s all fancy medical talk. I mean, do you know what ‘orthostatic hypotension’ is, or ‘acute repothermoanginal exsurary pressure’?”

“So, what do you suggest?” MJ sat crossed legged with her back against the desk. “Like you said, we can’t go to a professor or a doctor. They’ll know immediately that something’s up.”

I looked at her. Her eyes lit up at the exact same time as my own, and she raised an eyebrow. “That could end badly,” she said.

I fought back a smirk as I stood and pulled off my jacket and swapped it for one of MJ’s sweaters. Peter blushed red and his eyes widened at my bare skin, but I didn’t particularly care what he saw. There were more important things going on. “It’s our only choice,” I said, tugging off my combat pants. Peter turned to watch the wall and I yanked on a pair of jeans I’d left in MJ’s room at some point. “Besides, it can’t go _that_ badly. He already knows we’re up to something.”

“Um, who?” Peter cut in. He was still facing the wall, but I could sense his frustration. “And why do you two suddenly have the ability to read each other’s minds? It’s creepy. And annoying.”

“Doctor Wells.” I ignored the rest of his words. “Brad’s dad. He’s a doctor, remember?”

“I thought Brad’s last name was Davis,” Peter grumbled. He _really_ didn’t like Brad. He liked Brad even less than he liked Flash.

I shrugged, but Peter couldn’t see me. “Maybe that was his mom’s name? I guess she’s dead now so maybe he took it to remember her or something. I don’t know. Anyway, are you coming?”

Peter changed into a science pun t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He had half-hidden himself behind the door of MJ’s wardrobe, but I caught a flash of skin. His back was tight and smooth with lean muscle, but mottled scars dotted his skin like blooming flowers or clouds. Must have been some injury if it had managed to leave scars despite Peter’s healing factor.

“Stop gawking,” MJ whispered as she passed me with the printed bundle of documents.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Not gawking. By the way, do you know where that scar comes from? The one across his back?”

MJ only had to glance at him to know what I was talking about, and she shrugged. “Like, last year—well, sophomore year—his fight with that weapons dealer? Peter said something about a building collapsing on him or something?”

My eyes widened. “A—a building _collapsed_ on him? Like a whole—a whole building?”

MJ shrugged again, and set about duplicating the memory stick and locking one copy in a box under her bed. “Something like that. I never got the full story. We weren’t so close back then. Ned might know.”

I glanced back at Peter, averting my gaze as he shut the closet door and joined us, now fully dressed. “Are we going, then?” He seemed to have forgotten his dislike of Brad. He wanted answers us much as I did. And he knew that we needed to understand this document to get them.

 

####

 

I made us reappear in the bushes, the same place MJ and I had the night of the party. I wasn’t sure Brad would fall for our invisibility-tech again, and I really didn’t want _him_ knowing about my teleporting.

I knocked on the door, torn between hiding behind MJ and Peter, or keeping them as far away from Brad as possible. I settled on the latter. No matter how much I disliked Brad, we needed his father’s help.

The door opened to reveal Brad, and his eyes widened as he took me in. “Olivia. I knew you’d come back.” His gaze slid behind me, and disgust became evident. “Parker. Jones. What the hell are you two doing here?”

Peter smirked. “We’re here to watch Olivia beat you up.”

His eyes widened further, and in a very different way. I turned to glare at Peter before turning back to Brad. “I’m not going to beat you up right now. I want to talk to your dad.”

“He’s not here,” Brad said, narrowing the width of our entrance. “You can come back some other time.”

“I’m here! I’m here!” A voice called from behind us, and we turned as one. Doctor Wells, in a suit and carrying a briefcase, ran up the drive. “Sorry, kids. Got caught up at work. What are you lot here for? Someone’s hurt?”

“No one, Doctor Wells,” I said, stepping back to let him through. “Just wanted to ask you something.”

He nodded at me as he passed. Brad reluctantly held the door open and we followed them in. I heard MJ whisper something at Brad that sounded suspiciously like, “Just because she said ‘not right now’ doesn’t mean ‘not ever’.”

I didn’t bother glaring at her.

“Why don’t you kids sit in here while I talk to Olivia,” Doctor Wells said, rushing about the living room. He pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over his briefcase on a chair before sliding some cookies onto a plate and placing them along with three glasses of water onto the coffee table in the living room.

He gestured for me to follow to the kitchen. I glanced back. I couldn’t tell who looked less pleased with the arrangement: Peter or Brad. MJ, on the contrary, looked quite pleased, and I didn’t want to imagine what she was planning on doing to Brad.

“They can hear everything I have to say,” I said, and Peter immediately stepped to my side.

Wells gave him a once-over. “I’m sorry, young man,” he said after a second. “But Miss Olivia is the one who saved my son’s life, and I’d much prefer to not risk anything.”

Peter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before stepping back. “Yes, sir,” he said, and grudgingly took a seat on the couch next to MJ, who was staring at Brad in a purposefully disconcerting way.

I glanced back at Peter as Dr Wells closed the kitchen door. I could tell he’d be listening in. Anything he heard that was suspicious would have him barging in in seconds. He was polite, yes, but not _that_ polite.

I sat opposite Dr Wells and pulled out the sheaf of papers, sliding them across the table to him. He picked them up and dropped them straight away. He was pale when he looked at me. “Where did you get these?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Around. Can you tell me what’s going on in them? What exactly they’re talking about? Whether it’s dangerous?”

He took a long look at me before turning back to the papers. There was a few minutes of silence as he leafed through the documents, scanning them. He cleared his throat and let the pages fall back onto the table. “As far as I can tell,” he said, “though more information would be optimal, this isn’t dangerous. It’s a highly hypothetical treatment, a virus that targets the brain and ‘upgrades it’, so to speak. It says here—” He pointed to a specific place on the penultimate page. “—that this treatment has been extensively trialled, though I can’t imagine it’s in a legal circle, because if this really was viable, it would be all anyone’s talking about.”

I pulled the sheets back over to me. “So it’s illegal? Dangerous?”

He shook his head. “I can’t see any danger, and the treatment itself isn’t necessarily illegal. All I can say is that, normally, all medical treatments take years to trial in public settings, with many teams of doctors and scientists going over it. But I’ve never heard of it, and I haven’t seen it discussed in medical circles, which means that it probably isn’t a law-abiding company.”

I hummed. The Mandarin _wasn’t_ a law-abiding company. It wasn’t a company at all.

“But if you’re telling me that this is real—that it works, as it seems to in these documents—then that’s amazing! The future of medicine would be changed! Women wouldn’t die of breast cancer, injured veterans wouldn’t be doomed to unemployability. A new age of medicine, a new dawn for humanity.”

He was staring into the distance, eyes wide.

I frowned. “It doesn’t work, though. There are severe side effects. It’s unstable.”

He blinked, as if he was coming back to earth, and turned to the sixth page. “Are you sure? Because it seems to me that there _were_ side effects, but that they’ve been fixed. It even says here that there’s some sort of antidote—a reversal, so that the antibodies and treatment can fix the illness or injury, and then be removed.”

My frown deepened. That was what Dad had found. A reversal treatment, to un-code the Extremis from the brain. But it took hours to administer. Besides, if you were part of the 98% of the population that died from the Extremis, then the reversal would hardly help.

I peered at the writing. I could barely understand it. In fact, I _couldn’t_ understand it. It was all about _oncological rastiomas,_ and _imperitical anti-temporaneous fission factors._ “Are you sure, Doctor?” I asked. “Because—”

There was the smack of flesh on flesh from the living room. I span, my core tightening. _They’ve found us. The Mandarin has us. They’re going to kill us, and Doctor Wells, too._

My knives were still at MJ’s, and my wings, too. I had to get them. Peter and MJ. I had to get MJ out. She had nothing—no enhancements, no weapons—

I peeled the kitchen door open, trying to maintain my element of surprise. Peter was a blur of motion, his fist peeling back and springing forward towards someone.

“That’s probably not the best idea,” MJ said. _MJ_. I had to get her out. I tore my gaze away from Peter’s lightning movements, the sound of Peter’s steel punches still ripping through the room. But MJ was still sat on the sofa, her feet up on the cushions. I looked back at the figure Peter had pinned to the wall.

Brad. It was fucking Brad.

I pushed myself through the door and into the room, my grip closing around his shoulder and pulling him back. He was a hundred times stronger than me. More. He could lift a bus. And yet at the lightest touch of my skin on his, he stopped.

“Olivia, he—you didn’t hear what he said about you.” Peter was trembling, his eyes wide and filled with rage. “I can’t—”

“It doesn’t matter.” I looked at Brad. Peter had him pressed against the wall at my right, his left arm against Brad’s throat. Brad’s eye was already purpling, but that didn’t stop me from seeing the fear in them. Or the cockiness that somehow managed to live on. “I don’t care what he said. He’s not worth your energy.”

Peter’s other hand was still hovering in the air, half a fist. I let my hand close over his, entwined my fingers with his, and pulled him away. “We’ve got what we needed to know.” Peter didn’t take his eyes off Brad, who was peeling himself off the wall. I looked back at Doctor Wells and forced a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He just nodded back before crossing to Brad. I didn’t want to know what he was saying. I didn’t want to know what he thought. MJ joined us as we left, still as nonchalant as ever, and together we disappeared.


	40. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> forgot to say this before, so here we go! We're over 100,000 words and 100 comments, so thank you! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this and hope you will continue to do so. I think I've got a proper arc and climax/story planned out now, and I'm currently thinking about a book two. (Thoughts?) Anyways, thank you for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks, and I hope you enjoy this!

“I don’t get it,” MJ said as she flopped down on the wet grass. “It doesn’t make sense. Surely if the Extremis thing is safe, then they would have done it all legally.”

I shrugged, laying my coat on the ground to sit on. I’d been thinking about the same thing all Saturday and yesterday, though Dad and Pepper had called me home before we’d been able to discuss it all properly. “I don’t know. I _want_ to say that it’s _not_ safe, but that’s what the documents showed. Maybe we’re just wrong. And it’s not like they have any reason to lie in the documents; they were on their own computers, and I bet they didn’t think a fifteen year old would be able to get into it. ”

“So why wouldn’t they have had it peer-checked and all?”

“The 98% thing,” Peter said through a mouthful of sandwich. “I mean, that’s what it’s gotta be about, right? You can’t exactly release a treatment that only helps 2% of people, and kills everyone else.”

“True.” I pulled the corner off my sandwich and opened it up. The tomato had soaked into the bread and made it soggy, and there wasn’t enough cheese. “Though I’m kinda surprised the army hasn’t tried to use it as a chemical weapon yet.”

“Bioweapon.”

I looked at Peter. The end of a pickle was sticking out of his mouth and he pushed it in, looking sheepish. “That would technically count as a bioweapon,” he continued, swallowing. “And if this is about money, then they don’t need to do it legally. Think about how many people would pay tonnes of money to get what Extremis gives you”

“What, a painful death? Oh, yes, I can’t imagine that anybody would refuse that,” I said dryly.

Peter gave me a look. “If they’re in the 2%, I bet most of the government would pay loads for it, even if it didn’t come with a guarantee.. And that’s only thinking about this country. If we’re thinking about the rest of the world… I mean, in China, they don’t follow any of the scientific community’s rules.”

I sighed in agreement. “I guess. I just… I feel like there has to be _more_ to this, you know? The intercom guy said ‘everything I do, I do for love,’ or some shit, and I just don’t get why he would say it if it wasn’t true.”

“Sympathy votes?” MJ suggested. “In serial killer films, the psychos are always acting like they think they’re doing the right thing. Makes them interesting characters. ’s how politicians do it, too. Build a character they think you’ll like, and then they can get away with anything.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. He was just about to kill me. So why—Ned! Hey!” I cut myself off. MJ and Peter both twisted to see Ned appearing at the other end of the bleachers. _We could tell him._ Peter’s glance in my direction told me he was thinking the same thing. But MJ had figured out about Spider-Man mostly from Ned’s comments, and I couldn’t risk a similar thing happening. It had been one matter when Peter’d been taking down bike thieves and shoplifters, but this was the Mandarin. The three of us were already making sure not to be seen together outside school. I teleported to them and we stayed inside, and at school I only saw them at lunch anyway. But if Ned was spilling secrets left and right, they’d be in even more danger than they were already. They already knew who _I_ was, but _I_ was a Stark. I had myriad protections around me. MJ and Peter and Ned—not so much. And we couldn’t risk it.

“Hey!” he replied, dropping down on next to me. “Can you believe it? Mr Harrington kept us behind for _seventeen minutes_ after class. He didn’t even notice. And you guys are already finished, pretty much.”

I wrinkled my nose at my half-eaten sandwich. I’d bought a different one today than usual, and it was pretty disgusting. The chips and apples were safe, though.

“It’s ‘cause his wife left him,” MJ said. We all turned to look at her with identical frowns. “Mr Harrington. His wife left him,” she repeated as if we were dumb. “You know? She ran off after the Snap? Pretended she was dead? He only just found out that she was with another guy?”

“MJ, how the _hell_ do you know that?” Peter said, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. His cheeks were scrunched up, his eyebrows furrowed in the most adorable way.

“Changed his computer background,” MJ replied, crunching the last bite of her chip sandwich. “Used to be of him and his wife at their wedding, now it’s his cat. Also, I heard him crying on the phone to his brother. Pretty lame, don’t you think.”

“Kinda,” I replied, trying to get past MJ’s crazy Natasha-level skills of observation. “I, for one, would never be invested enough in a relationship to put them as my background. I’m much more important than any boyfriend I’ll ever have.”

Peter caught my eye, but he glanced at Ned before I could tell what he was thinking. _That was a joke_ , I wanted to say. MJ smirked at me, her version of a grin, and I looked back down at my sandwich. Soggy, tasteless, not as good as the other sandwiches. That was how _I_ felt at the moment. Getting nowhere with the Mandarin case, cracking jokes that didn’t make anyone laugh, and eating a crappy lunch. Plus my shoulder was still aching from the gunshot wound.

“Anyway,” said Ned, clearly eager to get back to his story. “Mr Harrington was talking for like forty minutes about the AcaDec finals next month.” He went off into the details about this team that Ned, MJ, and Peter were all in. They raved about it, despite the fact that Harrington had chosen to bump MJ off as captain (or, rather, to _not_ bump off the current captain) even though she’d been in charge before the Snap.

I wasn’t in the team. May and Tony had tried to convince me to join, back two years ago when I’d started at Midtown. But it felt stupid. Like I was here, following Peter’s footsteps to the same school, same clubs, because I knew how much people loved him. I’d been jealous, and not copying Peter had been the one thing that made me feel like I was better than him. Now I kinda wished I _had_ joined. They got a free holiday to Wisconsin, a full day of sightseeing and shopping, and that was before you even thought about the friendships they all got out of the club.

_God, I’m getting soft._

I heard my name and glanced up. The three of them were all looking at me. “You know,” Peter said, and I could tell some sort of quip was coming, “People traditionally _listen_ to each other when they’re having a ‘conversation’. I know it’s a foreign concept, but the word ‘conversation’ comes from ‘converse’, which means—” He broke off and yelped as a bit of soggy bread hit him in the face. Well, I aimed for the face, but it hit his shoulder instead. Yeah, maybe aiming wasn’t my forte.

“Whatever, Peter. People traditionally try to be _interesting_ when they’re having a conversation, but—” My phone pinged, and I cut my own half-hearted insult off. Ned had stopped looking so terrified every time I insulted someone, and instead seemed pleased at my ribbing of Peter.

_In parking lot. Will meet you outside Principal’s office? Pepper x_ , my phone read. Despite the fact that she was the CEO of the biggest tech company in the world, she still didn’t seem to understand that you didn’t have to sign your texts.

I jumped up, and tossed the last bit of my apple at Peter, who caught it without even looking up. “Got to go. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

They chorussed goodbyes, including MJ’s “Feel free to _drop_ _by_!”, which she thought was hilarious ever since I’d dropped out of the air in her bedroom and landed half on the desk, stabbing myself with a pencil. I gave her a half-hearted glare and walked away.

I tried to keep the spring out of my step and the sweat off my palms on the way to the Principal’s office. Had to keep my reputation up somehow. Not that that was really a problem, given how people simultaneously stared avidly, and also avoided me in the corridors ever since the attack. A few people had thanked me in the first few days back, including Charlotte Siller and Kasey Colton from the Spanish class, but I’d brushed them off. It made me uncomfortable, if I was honest.

But that wasn’t what today was about.

I stepped into the foyer of Principal Morita’s office, and for once, I wasn’t the one being stared at. Pepper, in a proper suit jacket and skirt, and Tony, in his Dad Fleece and gardening boots, even though he never even did the gardening properly at the lake house, were sitting opposite the reception desk, and everyone in the room was staring-but-not-staring.

They stood when they saw me, Pepper wrapping me in a half-hug and Tony giving me his weird, proud smile, his face wrinkling. “How’s your day been so far, hun?” Pepper asked.

“Good, thanks. Yours?”

She smushed up her nose. It was funny seeing her back in the suit after all the time she’d spent in muddy jeans and a t-shirt with paint stains at the lake. “Boring. David Truelove wants to meet you. Disney wants film rights to your father’s life story.”

Tony smirked. “Who wouldn’t?”

I frowned. “I thought films and things happened, like, when the person was dead.”

“I’m too important to wait around for,” Tony said, still holding back a grin. “Anywho, you ready to do this?”

I nodded and squared my shoulders just as the door to Principal Morita’s office opened. “Come on in,” he said with a practised smile, and we sat in front of his desk, Pepper on my right and Tony on my left. Pepper pulled a stack of papers out of the briefcase and set them on the desk in front of her. “As you know,” she began, “I’ve been Olivia’s legal guardian for ten years now, but my husband and I are now applying for permanent adoption. The process should be cleared within the next few days, but the social workers would like a reference from the school on Olivia’s health and wellbeing.”

My stomach tightened. At the meeting with the lawyers, they’d only told me it was ‘to clear a few things up’. But health and wellbeing… I’d been shot three times over the past few weeks. I’d been kidnapped. I’d been involved in a minor war. I’d been exposed to a harmful virus. And none of it was my parents’ fault, but what if Morita didn’t see it that way?

He scanned down the papers before glancing up. “Of course,” he started. His voice was serious, “the situation is a little complicated, given Olivia’s… run-in… during and after the attack a few weeks ago. However, I know that it was not the fault of the guardians, but rather the school. My only concern—and please don’t be offended by this—would be that Olivia isn’t being taught to regard her own safety as important.”

He leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to Tony. “I know, Mr Stark, that you were an Avenger, and I know how thankful we all are of what you did for the world in April. However, Olivia is a child, and I think we would all agree that her safety should be prioritised over any acts of heroism.”

Tony looked at me sideways, shifting in his chair. “Mr Morita,” he said, “I can assure you that whatever heroic acts I may or may not have chosen to partake in, I would never encourage Olivia to do the same.” The slightest smirk played across his lips and I could almost feel Pepper rolling her eyes. Only, it wasn’t that simple, because this was about my adoption. This was about my future. He couldn’t mess around with it. “Besides, that was all in my youth. I’m much more responsible these days.”

This time, I almost rolled my eyes, too. If by responsible he meant ‘boring’, it was true. It was also true if by responsible he meant he was having fun being a stay at home dad, spending all day looking after his kids and inventing useless things.

Morita seemed satisfied with the answer, and looked back to the papers. “Yes,” he said, “I can assure you that my recommendations to the social services will be glowing, as I’ve seen nothing but unwavering support from you two. Shall I officially inform the school that Olivia’s last name will be changing?”

I looked to Pepper, who looked to me. We hadn’t actually discussed this. I was sort of aware that my last name was technically still Hansen, although no one used it and I was pretty sure half my ‘official’ documents were labelled Stark.

“Yeah?” I said, half a question. Tony and Pepper both seemed pleased by it. Was I betraying my birth mother by doing this? Tony was my father in every way, so surely it made sense for me to have his last name. Either way, I didn’t want to be living in the past. Or in a present that didn’t and would never exist.

“Then, let me offer my early congratulations, to all of you.” Principal Morita smiled as he handed back the stack of papers, keeping only the ones he needed to fill in and sign. “I’ll get these to the adoption services as soon as possible, and I hope everything works out.”

I held back a grin as I left the office, held between my two parents. We weren’t technically there yet, but we were one step closer.

 

####

 

“That’s amazing.” Ned’s eyes were dreamy as he stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe it. I would kill to be adopted by Iron Man.”

I snorted. “That’s weird, dude. You’d be my _brother._ ”

“Yeah, weird,” said MJ, “Plus, why aren’t you freaking out about _Pepper Potts._ She’s so much cooler. No offence, Liv.”

“None taken.”

“You guys are making this weird,” said Peter. He was stretched out on the grass, his t-shirt riding up over his abs and his hands forming a cushion behind his head. “She’s not being adopted by Iron Man. She’s being adopted by her dad.”

Ned sighed again. “You don’t get it, Peter. You live in a world of stardom, whereas MJ and I can only look in from the outside, doomed forever to being satellites to the gravity of your famousness—”

“Speak for yourself.” MJ pulled out a second book from her backpack, dropping the first onto the grass. “Personally, I’m just fine looking at things _other_ than their world of stardom.”

“Oh, come on, MJ. You’d kill for an interview with Ms Potts.”

She glared at him, eyes narrow. After a moment without him backing down, she relented. “Alright, yeah, fine, I would, but—”

A crash cut through the sunny day. Peter and I both flinched at the noise, and started upwards. He had to scramble to his feet, and I was already standing, staring, at the top of the bleachers by the time his feet touched the bottom level.

“Oh, my god,” I said, my eyes fixed on the cloud of dust that was spreading over New York’s centre. Tiny specks of light were darting around, blinking in and out of existence. “Get your suit on, Spider-Man. Something’s going down.”


	41. Moonstone

Three blocks in the middle of Manhattan were completely destroyed. We stared at the rubble from our vantage point on a building’s roof. The cloud of dust was spreading. And so was the damage.

“There!” Peter’s arm shot out, pointing towards an empty patch of sky. “Damn—it’s gone. I think… Olivia, I think it’s just one thing. One person. One _really fast_ person.”

I swallowed. “It looks like Captain Marvel.”

The tiny flashes of light we’d seen from school continued, like the bursts of Carol Danvers’ powers. A building to our left began to crumble before we’d even seen anything hit it. Crowds of people in the street screamed as chunks of brick and plaster hit the floor.

“We need to get them out. We can’t fight her. Or it. Whatever it is.”

“Correction,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “ _You_ can’t fight her. I can teleport. That makes me faster than she is.”

I shut my eyes and thought of the glow. I knew nothing about her. Would the impression of the glowing light be enough to get me to her?

Peter’s hand gripped my wrist. I looked at him. The eyes of his mask were narrow. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t fight it if it’s anything like Ms Danvers. Besides, you can teleport, which means you need to be getting the civilians out.”

I bit my tongue. He was right. And this time, that was how I could save the most lives. Fighting the thing wouldn’t help. “What will _you_ do?”

He turned back towards the city. “Try and hold back the damage. And, if I get the chance, try and keep her away from the civilians”

Panic rose in my throat— _not Peter. Don’t hurt Peter—_ but I pushed it down and just nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I could feel his half grin as he took a step back, ready to launch himself towards the crumbling buildings. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” With a flash, he was gone, and there were cries of “Spider-Man!” from the ground.

I shook my hair back and tugged it into a ponytail. Strands were falling everywhere, but I didn’t have time to fix it. I had lives to save.

I reappeared by the biggest group of people. They flinched away from me, screams rocking in every direction. I probably looked terrifying, with my metal mask and all-black outfit. I held my hands up, tried to seem non-threatening. “I’m here to help—don’t worry! Stop! I’m—”

A woman clutched her baby to her chest and turned away from me. I’d appeared from nowhere, just like the flashes of light, and now I was glowing blue. Great way to make them feel better.

But if they wouldn’t listen to me—if they were going to be afraid of me—then I would have to get them out another way. I jumped up on top of the tallest section of stone I could find and turned back towards the group. They were huddling against walls, pushing against doors, glancing back and around with wild fear in their eyes.

“Shut up!” I roared. Silence fell, broken only by the crash of another section of building. Someone pointed, and I saw only a flash of red and blue as Spider-Man strung web across breaking sections of wall. “Thank you.” I took a deep breath and forced myself not to turn around. “I’m with Spider-Man. I can get you out of here, but you _have_ to _listen_ to me.”

They said nothing. Still trembling, crying, shaking bodies that were lying on the floor.

I looked at them.

A woman at the back half-stood, wiping her hair out of her face. “How do we know to trust you?”

I raised an eyebrow. They probably couldn’t see it, given the mask, but it brought a hint of normalcy to Manhattan crashing down around us. “You don’t. But you either come with me or stay _here_. I know what _I’d_ prefer.”

She hesitated for only a second before stepping forward again, and I saw that she was hand-in-hand with a tiny girl, no older than four or five, with a cloud of black hair and eyes wide as a puppy’s. The woman crossed to in front of me, not even flinching when another block of stone crashed to the ground behind me. I heard Peter’s cursing even from here, but I didn’t look away from the woman.

“What do we have to do?”

 

#####

 

I was exhausted by just the first trip. I didn’t know if we could form a chain, or if each person had to be touching _me,_ so I felt like the centre of one of those spiky balls that had rubber protrusions in every direction, only this time the protrusions were _people_ , and they were people that I was trying to teleport.

I couldn’t go to school or Stark Tower. That would give too many people clues about who I was. I couldn’t do any of the famous shopping centres, because they were too near by, and possibly about to be crushed. But I also didn’t know if the people had to be thinking about the place, so I had to pick somewhere well known.

Which was how dozens of people ended up milling in front of the statue of liberty. I got about twenty-five there on my first go, but it was already tiring me out.

I rushed to get the second half of the group to Liberty Island. Once they were there, the world turned into a blur. I straightened myself, and ran across the square towards a smaller group. School children, I realised. Elementary school kids on a trip.

They were easier. They already assumed I was a superhero, come to save them. But so many were crying and screaming that it was near impossible to bring order about. I had to drag a little boy off the body of his teacher. I tried not to look too closely at the face.

As I disappeared from Liberty Island, I saw the woman from the first group rushing towards the kids. I didn’t know if she was another teacher, separated from the group, or just a concerned citizen, but I was thankful. I didn’t have enough energy to be fearing for them, too.

At least seven blocks were destroyed now, an ocean of rubble, dust, and bodies. The people had figured out that the buildings weren’t safe, and were ducking into the streets. They sheltered beneath cars and chunks of rubble. I darted between the groups, ignoring the haze that had begun to wash over my vision. The groups got smaller each time, until I was taking only five or six on each trip.

A father with a ten-year-old girl tried to refuse. He told me that he didn’t like all the ‘superhero funny business’ and that we needed to ‘stop meddling’. He held the girl behind him and tried to push her away. I could see in her eyes that she wanted to be somewhere else—anywhere else—so I lunged, and disappeared from Liberty Island before _she_ could say ‘thank you’ or _he_ could say ‘fuck off’.

I tried to take the bodies, too, but there were too many. I was tugging one—an old man, still breathing—towards another, my hands under his arms, when the weight suddenly lifted. I grunted with surprise, my body stumbling forward under the lack of weight.

“Something tells me that this dude’s not from New York,” Peter said, setting the man down next to the teacher’s corpse from earlier and a woman I had dragged across the street. “So I take it that this means she’s not happy with the hotel prices.”

I flashed him a smile, too tired and dizzy to respond, and disappeared, my arms stretched over the three bodies.

I reappeared in the city and darted towards the next body. Only it wasn’t a body, it was a pale, sandstone-like hunk of rock. I looked around. This square was empty, no bodies or people as far as I could see. There were cars, yes, and I could still hear distant screams, along with the roar of choppers—but nothing nearby. Webbing stretched across every building’s walls I could see, holding them together. I took a breath and started jogging toward the next intersection, where I could see lumps on the ground that could be bodies.

I was dizzy. Could barely see straight, and was running as if it was the end of a marathon. So. Now I knew that taking more people with me was a lot more tiring. Another crash. I didn’t have the energy to look. I stumbled and fell, my palms grazing against the rubble. My head fell back. Rubbing my eyes, I sighed. Couldn’t stop now. Had to get everyone out. If anyone else died—that was on me.

A hand on my arm and Peter lifted me. My eyes fluttered open, but he wasn’t looking at me. He kept his arm around my waist, practically holding me up, but he was focussing on something past me. I turned.

It was as if a tiny star had crashed into Midtown Manhattan and was floating, fifteen feet off the ground. I had to squeeze my eyes shut from the brightness, and I let my face fall onto Peter’s shoulder. His other arm wrapped around me, squeezed, and let go.

_Strength._

This was our enemy, who was destroying Manhattan and killing people. I couldn’t let him, her, _it,_ see our weakness. My weakness.

I forced myself away from Peter, and instead stood beside him, watching the floating figure. The glow slowly dimmed, though two burning circles remained where her eyes should have been. She really did look like Captain Marvel, her suit of some sort of leather with a golden star at the chest. The rest was white, the same design as Carol’s, and she was resting, floating, in the same pose as Carol, with one foot set against the other and her knees bent. Her hands were out to her sides, elbows pressed against her waist, palms to the sky with miniature glowing spheres resting in them. White hair floated in a circle around her face, her skin almost as pale as her energy glow.

“What do you want?” I called out, blinking away the black spots that crossed my vision at the exertion.

She set herself down on the ground, no more than ten feet away from us, and the glow in her eyes dimmed to pale brown. “I want Carol Danvers, begging at my feet.”

“She’s not here,” I replied. It was the truth, as far as I knew. “She left. She’s in space.”

The hint of a smile, the corners of her lips turning upwards. “She will come. Soon. When she hears what I have done to her beloved planet.”

“There’s this thing called ‘messenger’,” Peter called out from beside me. “Maybe you don’t, like, have it in space yet, but I would have guessed that if you can fly at the speed of light and shoot lasers from your hands, you would probably have an easier way to send a message than, like, blowing up New York.” He raised his hands as if asking for mercy. “What would I know, though? Just a regular earth genius.”

I snorted and caught his eye. Solidarity, in the middle of all this. I could almost feel his smirk under the mask. His persona completely changed when he was Spider-Man, and I loved it.

“You think you’re funny,” the woman said. “But you bore me. When Danvers gets here, I will have a real fight. Something to entertain me, at last.”

Her tone wandered, her eyes darting behind me. Panic rose in my throat. She was getting bored. What if—in a moment—she began to destroy again? The police had to be evacuating people right now, and anyone who could help would be here. But if Peter and I couldn’t keep her distracted, that would be worth nothing.

“Who are you?” I called out, pushing as much desperation and defeat into my tone as I could. _Keep her interested. Keep her talking. Keep her away from civilians._

“I am Moonstone,” she replied. Her voice had an ethereal, angelic quality. “I was created by the Kree to kill their failed experiment. I am everything Carol Danvers could not be.”

“You got that right,” Peter said. “You’re way weirder than Ms Danvers ever was.”

She turned her gaze to him. “Who are you, then, child?”

“Spider-Man,” he replied, without an ounce of hesitation. I stilled as a cry carried over from the street beyond ours. Moonstone didn’t even turn. I glanced sideways at Peter. _And, if I get the chance, keep her away from civilians._ He knew exactly what I was thinking. A tiny nod, really just the dip of his chin, and he stepped forward, began talking.

I tried to block out his movements, registering only the cocky, deprecating tone as he mocked ‘Moonstone’ and asked whether it was a Kree habit to name yourself after your birth stone. Edging sideways, I watched Moonstone out of the corner of my eye. She was unnaturally still, but focused on Peter. I had a clear run at it.

A wrist stuck out from under a chunk of rock. It was amazing that the person—whoever it was—was still alive. I grasped the wrist, not bothering with the formalities, and glanced up only to see Peter, still standing and chatting with the alien, before I disappeared.

I took the person to the hospital rather than Liberty Island and left him in the emergency room. The television screen in the corner showed the rubble and destruction, Spider-Man standing in the middle of it, with the line _Live: Queens’ Favourite Hero teams up with newbie to take on powerhouse destroying Lower Manhattan._

I frowned at the word newbie. That meant _me_.

Tapping the ear piece of my mask, I bent my head down. My heart was thumping in my chest, despite the fatigue washing through me. _Peter’s with her. Peter’s with the crazy alien. Peter’s in danger_ , was speeding through my mind. “Are you there?” I whispered.

A moment of silence. On the TV screen, Spider-Man’s hand moved from his side to his ear. “ _Yeah,_ ” he replied. “ _Pretty sure she’s agreed to take her Angry Phone Call back to space. I’ll meet you at school. Five minutes.”_

The buzzing stopped and I breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, Peter had talked some sense into her. How, I didn’t know. Maybe his quips and jokes had annoyed her into leaving Earth. Either way, he was safe. New York was safe.

I disappeared from the hospital before anyone could realise that the ‘newbie’ was standing in their midst, and reappeared under the bleachers. The field was empty with no one in sight. A coat lay on the ground, a knee-length puffa jacket, with a scrawled note in MJ’s writing. _To cover up,_ she’d written. _We’re in the gym_. I tugged it on over my suit, plus the boots that had been hidden underneath, and tucked my mask into a pocket with the note crumpled beside.

I crept into the back of the gym. The students were milling, jumping over the seats of the bleachers and speaking in hushed whispers, ignoring the teachers telling the to stay calm. A hand shot into the air, and I saw MJ. She was watching me anxiously, and rushed towards me with Ned trailing, his eyes on his phone.

“How’d it go?” she hissed, glancing around us. No one had even noticed my late entrance.

Ned let out a harsh yelp and almost dropped the phone, cutting off my reply. _“Peter,_ ” he hissed, and I yanked it out of his hands.

The same news channel as in the hospital. The screen showed the same rubble I’d walked among in the city, a huge toppled stature the focus of the shot. Only, now, the line at the bottom read, _Live: Spider-Man crushed under rubble after trying to protect journalists as unknown enhanced_ _continues destruction._

 

_####_

 

My fingernails snapped as I clawed at the stone. Everything in me was focussed on one goal only: _Get Peter out._ MJ’s coat flapped around me. The media crews had been pushed back by Moonstone’s new flurry of destruction, and I’d seen bleeding faces and broken arms, but I didn’t care. Peter had been injured saving them. I wasn’t going to let him die from the same.

Because he _wasn’t_ dead. I would know if he was.

I grunted as another chunk of plaster and brick finally shifted and skittered down over the pile of rock. He was in here somewhere. I just had to get to him, then take him back to the tower. _He has enhanced healing. He’ll be fine._

I dug my fingers under the next chunk and tried to lever it away. If I had enhanced strength, I would be able to do this. What kind of use was teleportation with _this?_ What was I gonna do, teleport a crane here?

I cursed and ran the back of my hand over my forehead. The flashes of light had moved away, but they were getting closer again. I had maybe a minute until the buildings were crushing me, as well as Peter. And then we were both dead.

“Spider-Man!” I pressed my face to a tiny crack between lumps of brick. “Don’t worry. You’re gonna—you’re gonna be fine.”

If anyone looked too close, they would see the suit clinging to my legs, not fully covered by my borrowed coat. I glanced behind me. The nearest cameras were at least a block away, and through the dust and rubble they couldn’t see me. For now.

I toppled a chunk of brick and it crashed onto the floor. And was that—

Finally.

A red hand, fingernails dug into the plaster.

I grabbed it, wrapped my fingers through his, and disappeared. The Stark Tower medical centre was in full swing, gurneys twisting in every direction and doctors shouting. The red and blue got their attention, though, and a team of doctors was upon Peter in seconds, lifting him into the bed.

I slumped onto the floor, my back against the wall, and watched. I didn’t have the energy to follow. But I saw the bruises, blooming across his skin. The cuts and gashes through his suit, the fabric spinning ever darker with blood.

“Olivia! Olivia!”

Pepper and Tony pressed against me, pulled me up from the floor.

“Oh, my god! We’ve been calling the school and they haven’t been picking up—and you weren’t picking up—and May said that Peter wasn’t picking up—and oh my god, Olivia, what the hell happened? Why were you—”

I pulled away from them. “Peter’s hurt,” I said. “He was in the fight, and then—and then he got crushed by the rubble. I brought him here. I’m fine. He’s through…” I gestured in the right direction, and Tony immediately started in that direction. He hesitated for just a second, looking back at me.

“Good work, kiddo,” he said. “Sit tight. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve seen Peter.”

I nodded roughly and slumped back against the wall, staring at the floor and the rush of legs and wheels flying past. Someone accosted Pepper with questions, and she glanced back at me, torn, before following the secretary away.

Alone.

Alone, which was good.

Because Peter was hurt, and it was all _her_ fault. The woman destroying my city. The cloud of dust was visible through the window, even from here. Tiny zaps of light. The ever-growing circle of destruction.

She had hurt my Peter, and I wasn’t going to let her hurt anyone else.

No one even saw me disappear, or reappear in the middle of the Manhattan, two hundred feet up. Elbows in, wrists up. Elbows snap out—wrists follow. Wings spread, parallel to my arms. Soaring. The flash of light. I followed it, turned in the air, spiralling into the cloud of dust.

“Moonstone,” I shouted, my voice ripped away by the wind. She would hear it. I was certain. “Fight me, coward.”

I was only thirty feet above the rubble ground when another, different light sparked, and I caught sight of the fireball flying towards me. On instinct, I threw my arms in front of my face, and the wings followed. They took the brunt of the heat, but the force threw me back and down. I hit the ground—soft grass, at least—and rolled, my wings wrapping around me like a mother’s arms. They formed a cage around me, but the flash of flame caught, and my coat started burning.

Dazed, I pushed myself to a crouch. My wings were still shielding me from the outside world, but my coat was burning to reveal the matt black of my suit. I caught my mask when the pocket split, and melded it onto my face. Smoke rose around me, the grass burning. There was a tree to my left, flaming, too. In the distance, through the haze of dark smoke, Moonstone shone.

_I’m going to kill her for this._

_For Peter._

I gripped my knives. My wings spread to my sides and, like a phoenix, with the last vestiges of my burning coat spinning and falling around me, I rose from the flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked this and hopefully y'all did too. Let me know what you thought in the comments (please)!


	42. This is my fault

I stepped forward, the smell of smoke surrounding me. The world was grey. Metal beams and chunks of rubble lined the road, some as big as my bedroom. Smaller debris was scattered across the tarmac between the dented, broken cars. I left behind the patch of burning grass that had at one point been home to a tree. That tree was now bent double, flaming, leaves and branches splayed behind me under a section of metal.

Blinking the impact and fatigue away, I walked forward. My blood was pounding with steady, dominating thuds. As I got closer to Moonstone, the smoke cleared enough for me to see the few reporters, cameras and microphones in hand, pressed against larger chunks of rubble, eager for a few good shots. My wings spread higher behind me, the movement tracking systems taking over. They might as well have been part of my body. My anger reached the very tips of each wing.

_Moonstone._ Too pretty a name for the bitch that had recked my city and crushed my Peter.

I came to a stop fifteen feet from the woman and drummed my fingers along the hilts of my knives. These were my longest. They would stretch from my elbow to the tips of my fingers, though now I held them at my sides. No matter how long or sharp my knives were, they wouldn’t take down Moonstone. Not with her light-speed, her strength, her fireballs.

She was floating. Putting on a show, with glowing eyes and an aura of light. Y _ou bore me. When Danvers gets here, I will have a real fight. Something to entertain me, at last._ Bored. Bored, so she almost killed my best friend.

“Moonstone,” I said, not bothering to raise my voice above a breath. If she was worth her salt, she would hear me. “Are you such a coward that you wouldn’t fight me head-on?”

“I have the power of gods.” The humour was evident in her tone. She floated forwards, glancing to the sides, as if the press would be laughing with her. “I would crush you in milliseconds, human.”

_I’m glad I entertain you._ “Then don’t use your powers. You think you’re better than me—better than us. _Prove it._ If you’re really better than me, then you’ll be able to fight without your light-show tricks.”

She tensed, almost imperceptible. The cameras, at almost twice the distance, probably wouldn’t see it at all.

“You said you were bored. Isn’t this _interesting_ enough for you?” I snarled. “Or do I scare you?”

The glow dimmed and her feet touched the floor, only five feet from me. Her eyes became brown again. “As if I would be scared of a human child.” I held back the smirk. Cockiness, arrogance. The easiest qualities toThis is your last chance. When I fight, I fight to _kill.”_

A trickle of fear at the base of my throat. But then I thought of Peter. Covered in scrapes and scratches, and had his leg been bent in the wrong direction? And what MJ had said the other day—that he’d been trapped under a building before. That the bruises on his back came from that. That he didn’t like buildings much. How much worse was _this_ going to make it?

“Good,” I said, pushing down my fear and lifting my chin. “Because you tried to kill my best friend, and I’d like to return the favour.” Knives tight in my grip, shoulders back, every inch of me electric and ready to move. “But you don’t seem to have any friends, so I’ll settle for _your_ life, instead.”

I didn’t know who moved first. I just knew we were moving. The world seemed to slow and speed up at the same time. Every movement stretched into seconds, and they were lightning fast. We were a whirlwind. I ducked and wove and slashed—and true to her word, she didn’t start glowing—and neither of us landed a blow.

Only forearms blocking fists, feet shifting backwards before contact could be made. She spun, leg out to knock me over, and I launched myself upwards, my wings tucking as I rolled in the air.

I landed back on the ground, this time behind her. She spun again, her eyes connecting with mine. A heartbeat, and we were off again. Parry, block, strike. There! An opening!

Somewhere, I was aware of my wings. They darted around me, blocking hits, throwing me backwards, propelling me under her guard. It was instinctual, the tiny shifts of my muscles that controlled the wings’ movement.

She threw a punch but I ducked backwards and she lurched through the air, unbalanced. An open guard. I lunged, my knife angled into her ribs—readied for the impact, the squelch and slide I knew would come—but the knife just glanced off her skin.

I stared. As if her skin was diamond, the blade had skidded. My eyes widened, and I realised a heartbeat too late that I was still.

Her fist hit my jaw and I twisted in the air. A crunch as I hit the ground, one of my knives clattering out of my grip. My ears were ringing, my vision splitting with black spots. The breastplate had kept me from too much damage, but the fabric along my thigh was split and I could feel the stinging on my hand, elbow, and leg.

Pushing myself up onto my elbow, I turned in time to see a boot headed at my face. I rolled out of the way, jumped to my feet, thrust my knife out in front of me. Again, it tore through the suit but skidded off the skin of her stomach.

Invulnerability. Was I fighting a battle I could never win?  
Her leg swept through mine and I crashed to the ground. A foot to the stomach, and I grunted with pain. It ripped through me like wildfire, bringing tears to my eyes.

Her foot came towards me again and I grabbed it, yanking. She fell on her ass with a string of curses. Not even hurt. Humiliated, maybe—but it was a while since anyone had died of humiliation.

It gave me a heartbeat to cough and splutter, my stomach tightening from the pain. My blood ran cold as I realised that this was way out of my league, but I managed to push myself to a sitting position and scramble backwards. I breathed hard, my lungs wheezing. It had been a sharp kick, right under the ribs. The bruise would be impressive.

A brick in her hand, she started towards me. I scrambled backwards up a slab of stone. I was pretty sure Moonstone’s cockiness wouldn’t extend to ‘If I stab you in a place that should actually hurt you, you have to pretend that it did’. That was for kids’ games. That was me and Morgan with nerf guns.

This was very, very different.

I reached the top of the slab and realised I didn’t have either of my knives anymore. I’d dropped both, and they were past her. Eyes burning with hatred, her foot touched the bottom of my slab of stone. The brick in her hand was her only weapon, but it was more than I had. She hadn’t used her powers, and she’d still destroyed me.

“You _said_ —” she snarled, fingers closing around the brick. It crumbled to dust and fell through her fingers. So, she was going to kill me with her bare hands— “that you—” two steps away, and I could barely breathe, my vision spotting again— “Were going—” one step away. I scrambled further, but there was nowhere to go except down, and I couldn’t take the fall— “To be—” Her hands closed around my neck. I hooked a foot behind her ankle and yanked, trying to topple her, but she stood firm— “ _Interesting.”_

Her hands stayed loose, but I knew what was coming. I threw my arms out to the sides, scrambling for anything that might give me the upper hand.

“But here I am.” A foot slammed down on my hand and I held back a scream as she ground my fingers into the rock. “Still _bored_.”

Her grip tightened and my vision split immediately. The image of Peter appeared in my mind, battered and bleeding in a hospital bed because of _her,_ but it didn’t give me the strength I needed.

She was going to kill me. I knew it. There was nothing I could do about—no one who could take her on. I was never going to finish High School or graduate MIT or go on a road trip or teleport to the moon or stay out clubbing until dawn or kiss Peter or officially be my father’s daughter—

_Hang on._

I choked, her thumbs pressing into my vocal cord. There was no breath left in my lungs. My blood was pounding, black spots throbbing across my vision. There was a _crash_ of blood in my ears—

_Hang on._

There were two thoughts clamouring for my attention. _Kiss Peter—_

Another _crash_.

Teleport to the moon. _That_ was the important one. Because—teleport. I could teleport. I hadn’t been using my greatest talent. It was the one thing I could do that I didn’t think the monster in front of me could. And for some reason, I hadn’t used it.

But I could use it now.

_Crash._

I was back on the tarmac road, my fist closing around the knife’s hilt—there was a yelp asshe toppled over the edge of the slab, her momentum carrying her to the ground. And then I was beside her, one knee digging into her throat, my toes pressing into her wrist, the other knee pinning down her other arm. I forced her jaw open with my left hand.

_Crash_.

Impenetrable skin, maybe. But if I stabbed her in the throat, if I drove my blade up through the roof of her mouth, up into her brain—would that be able to kill her? Only one way to find out. I plunged my knife forward, the curve of the roof of her mouth glistening.

_You shouldn’t want to kill her._

The hesitation was only a second. Less than that. A fraction of a heartbeat. A shudder in my hand that halted the knife’s path, inches away from Moonstone’s death and her terror-filled eyes.

_Crash._

The eyes that were glowing.

I was flying backwards and my head hit a wall and blackness enveloped me properly this time.

 

####

 

I woke to pain. Always, pain. A fist in my hair, yanking me upwards. “It’s rude to fall asleep when someone’s trying to have fun with you,” she hissed, hot breath rustling the baby hairs at the nape of my neck. “Carol isn’t here yet, so _you_ will have to do for now.”

I blinked my eyes open. She was still glowing, the heat off her hands and face searing my skin. Her eyes were only inches from mine, white-hot.

“You cheated,” I croaked. Triumph coursed through me, despite our position. I had won. If it was a fair game, I would have won. “You broke the rules.”

“There _are_ no rules in death, little girl.” She dropped me and I slumped back against something hard, my skull making a _crack_ sound. She stepped away, her hands glowing ever brighter. Behind her, far beyond, reporters were turning away. None of them were going to stop my death. “Your tiny human friends will thank me for teaching them that lesson. However,” she said, looking down at her hand. A white fireball was growing there, swirling and spinning like the surface of the sun. “I think it may be too late for you.”

Her arm arced backwards.

_I should teleport._

Peter’s apartment. Safe. Star Wars posters. The fire escape. Peter. Couches. The tiny TV screen. Bunk beds. Old computer.

The image in front of me stayed exactly the same, only the slow-motion movement of Moonstone’s arm and the fireball, ready to spring towards me.

Like a meteor, someone else’s fireball slammed into Moonstone. I let my eyes flutter shut again. _I should teleport._ But I didn’t know if I had the energy. All those trips to Liberty Island—had I used up my teleportation powers? I could still fly. Or run, or walk, or crawl. But I didn’t know if I had the energy. Warmth seeped through my skin and I instinctively flinched back from it. Fire. Moonstone. But it wasn’t that kind of warmth, and after a second I lifted a hand. Sticky blood.

A hand under my elbow. Peter lifted me upwards until I was standing, one hand pressed against the wall behind me and one arm still supported by him. Except, Peter was hurt. Unconscious, probably. In the med wing, definitely.

I blinked my eyes open again, forced myself to focus. It was a reporter, a young man in a suit, dust and dirt all over him. He held a microphone in one hand and behind him stood a camera woman, a massive rig held over her shoulder.

“Here you go, Ma’am,” said the reporter, offering me a hand. I waved him away. He wasn’t Peter or Tony or Pepper. I wasn’t going to let him treat me like a kid. I wasn’t going to let him see me be vulnerable. And besides, Moonstone would be coming back in a second, and then I had to protect them. I was scraped and bruised and burned all over, sticky blood covering the left side of my face, but I was alive. And I wasn’t about to let her kill anyone else.

I limped onwards, my wings scraping on the ground. It took me a second before I realised, and snapped them back into place. I stood in front of the reporter and his crew, watched the ball of light that was Moonstone.

Only, it wasn’t a ball of light.

It was _two._

They tussled, flew upwards—smashed downwards. A flash of red and blue, and I realised that it was Carol. Captain Marvel, here to give the Moonstone some entertainment at last. And I didn’t have to fight any longer.

My knees gave way and I slumped to the ground, just watching. Carol had the upper hand. She was going to win. Maybe, at least a little, I had tired Moonstone out. Maybe I was part of this win. Or maybe I had just come to near death for no good reason.

“Ma’am?” The reporter kneeled by my side. I didn’t reply. He glanced backwards at the camera woman, who shrugged. “Ma’am, is it alright if we ask you a few questions? James Irving, New York Post.”

I turned my head. My neck felt rusted—every muscle felt rusted. It took too much energy, just to shift my gaze. “What?” I said.

“James Irving, New York Post. Is it alright if I ask you a few questions?”

I almost said no. I could shake my head, push myself to my feet. Try to teleport again, catch the subway when it didn’t work. Catch the subway with my wings still dragging after me. But Dad was out there somewhere. And Pepper. And they would be watching the news. If not now, then later. And if I didn’t get my story straight, and establish a completely different persona for this superhero, they would connect the dots.

“Yeah,” I said, putting on a British accent. I straightened, twisted myself towards him. I wasn’t sure I could quite face standing up. “Yeah, that’d be fine.”

He glanced around, unsure, before finally just sitting next to me, his knees bent in front of him. “Who are you?” he finally settled on asking. Original. He seemed new. Seemed… in shock, maybe.

“Someone who wanted to help,” I replied. Vague enough, but also the kind of soppy superhero-ish stuff people loved. “But I don’t think you’re going to get a name any time soon.”

“What about a moniker? What should the citizens of New York call you?”

I sighed, ran a hand over my forehead. I didn’t want this. This press tour, news release stuff. My mask wouldn’t even hold up that well on recording. “I’ll leave that to you guys to figure out,” I said. “I’m still pretty new to this. Only been doing it for about three months. So I’ll leave the name to you guys.” Three months. Had I messed up with that? The kidnapping had been, what, a month ago? So that was another diversion, but would they get suspicious that there hadn’t been sightings of me before?”

He looked behind us, at where Carol and Moonstone were still fighting, fifty feet in the air. “What happened here today?” he asked.

Finally. Something I could talk about without being careful. “That’s Moonstone,” I said, pointing. “She came here from space so she could trash New York to get Captain Marvel’s attention. Bit drastic, if you ask me.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t get to speak. There was a massive thunderclap as Captain Marvel slammed Moonstone into the ground. I felt the tarmac crack from fifty metres away. But when Carol stood, her glow reducing, Moonstone didn’t copy her.

The news anchor immediately stood, talking rapidly about how the fight appeared to be over and Captain Marvel was walking _this way—_

I just kept my eyes on her. The last time we’d spoken was at the paintball, when I’d freaked. God, seemed like so long ago. In reality it had been three or four weeks. I was so out of it that when Carol came to a stop in front of me, I didn’t react.

Then she reached out, her hand brushing my cheek, and I felt reinvigorating, rejuvenating warmth. My vision cleared, my posture straightened. My knee was no longer aching, my skin was no longer littered with scrapes and cuts. “There you go,” she said, and I just nodded. “And thank you. For being here when I wasn’t. We’ll talk later.” She gave me a coy smile.

She knew who I was. I was sure of it. But she just winked before turning back towards the cameras and drawing all the attention to herself.

 

####

 

Tony barely looked at me when I slid into Peter’s hospital room. There’d been ‘complications’, apparently. Internal bleeding. Surgery. He would be okay. But it was scary enough that I didn’t grudge Dad the lack of attention he gave me.

It was better, anyway. Though Carol had healed me, and I was wearing again the clothes I’d gone to school in, there were tiny pockmarks in my skin where the burns had been. Not particularly noticeable, but still present.

Peter, however, looked like crap. It hadn’t been more than forty minutes since I’d brought him here. There were still gashes all over him, closing too slowly. A drip in his arm. Bruises everywhere. He was wearing one of Tony’s fleeces and was piled under blankets. He looked tiny. Broken.

I sat in the chair on his left and settled there, my eyes fixed on him. Pepper appeared after a few minutes with a plate of food. I ate without looking and answered her questions with short, non-committal noises. She left after a bit. Wouldn’t take it personally, I was sure.

May arrived soon after. I left my chair for her and instead lay down in the corner of the room, resting my head on a spare pillow that had been left there, presumably for when Peter woke up.

I drifted into sleep with only one thought in my mind.

_This is my fault._

 

 

_####_

 

 

When I woke, I was on a mattress and there were blankets above me. I was curled on my side, facing Peter. He was still, eyes closed. The chairs were empty. They were probably eating or sleeping. By now—not that I knew what time it was—Peter had probably woken up once.

I pushed myself up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and yawning. My stomach was rumbling, but I didn’t want to leave Peter alone. What if he woke, and no one was there? What if Moonstone came after him again?

I chose Tony’s chair. Taking May’s seemed… insensitive. Peter looked so much better. His bruises and minor cuts were mostly gone, leaving smooth, pale skin with only the occasional slash. His limbs were all straight, and he was on his side facing me. His right hand was under his cheek, but his left hand lay alone on the white sheet. It felt right to take his hand, to hold it. It was cold. He had the blankets on, but what use were they if he wasn’t producing any of his own heat anyway?

I sat there, minutes passing. My mind was slow, still catching up to everything that had happened. Was I still in shock, or was it that I was still asleep? Or had one of the hits to my head caused some kind of brain damage?

Peter’s eyes were open. He was awake. I pulled my hand back, only for him to hold on to it.

“Stay,” he whispered, blinking. “Don’t go…”

He wrapped his fingers through mine, grip weak. “I’m not going anywhere, Peter.”

A faint smile. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what he said.

I leaned down, turned my ear towards his voice. “What was that?”

“Said…” He sighed and nestled closer to the pillow. “Said, ‘Really like you’.”

“Oh.” I sat up, my cheeks turning red. What was _that_ supposed to mean? He was high on anaesthetics, clearly, but—would he even remember this when he next woke up? Probably not, I reasoned. He probably would be completely unaware this had even happened. “I really like you, too, Peter,” I finally said.

And I did.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!
> 
> 1\. this is pretty short but I have a dentist's appointment tomorrow morning so I have to go to bed now and thought that something was better than nothing. I'll add more tomorrow probably in the same chapter so make sure to come back and check!  
> 2\. thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos. Because of the aforementioned appointment, I can't reply rn, but I defo will tomorrow and please continue to mention your thoughts and leave some love! It gives me life!  
> 3\. I was gonna do a lion king fic of Peter/Tony etc but realised there's no way I can write a story where Tony dies.  
> Alrighty then, hope you enjoy!

My dreams were filled with nonsensical images. Someone chasing me through a never-ending hotel, with every room in a different style. I’d find a door, hidden behind a bookcase or under a bed or embedded in the wall, scramble through it to the next room, and have to repeat the whole process. Something was chasing me, and I ended up in a room filled with falling, burning chunks of rock. I couldn’t find the door, and my pursuer got closer. As it got neared, I got warmer. When the heat reached burning, I turned, and a glowing hand wrapped around my throat—

My eyes flashed open.

Hospital. Peter.

My head was on the side of the bed, resting on top of my left arm. I was still sitting in the chair, bent forward to reach the bed. The room was semi-dark, the cracks around the door providing some light. My back was aching, twisted in a weird position. I ran a hand through my hair and pushed myself up, shifting in the chair. My butt was numb.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered. He was sitting up now, hunched over a book, though the room was dark. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“’S fine,” I said, pulling my legs up onto the chair and sitting on them. I just needed to change position. “Can you read when it’s this dark?” I asked, glancing around. Even with his advanced senses, it seemed improbable.

He shrugged and set the book down. “Kinda. I didn’t want to turn the light on in case it woke you up.”

I tilted my head. That was so… sweet. For Peter, who rushed into everything, I was impressed. “Don’t worry about it.” I glanced around. He and I were still the only two in the room, the chair on the bed’s other side still empty. “May and Tony still not back yet?” I asked.

“Nah. Ms Potts made Mr Stark deal with the press, so he’s pretty busy trying to get out of that, and May went to work. The hospital’s in overtime, you know, with… the attack.”

I frowned. I _did_ know. I’d seen all the people hurt. Hell, I’d _teleported_ all the people hurt. Or I hoped I had. The ones pinned under buildings, trapped in mini caverns, I’d probably missed. More lives on my conscience. But still. I was surprised May wasn’t here with her nephew.

Peter must have caught my expression, because he clarified, “I told her to go. She wanted to stay, but I’m fine and other people needed help, so…”

I nodded. Fair enough. Peter was always the hero, in every way that he could be. I yawned, my mouth dry. “What time is it?” I managed to get out through the yawn. The room was dark, but there were no windows that could give an indication. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. I didn’t even know how long I had been asleep the first time.

“Eight thirty,” Peter replied. “PM. Mr Stark said you came in here around three.”

Five hours, then. Maybe less, given how long I’d spent awake, just staring at Peter, before falling asleep for the second time.

Peter reached across and flicked on the bedside lamp, and I became very aware of the fact that I was still wearing the rumpled clothes I’d worn to school this morning. Jeans and a t-shirt, and I probably smelled disgusting from all the running, fighting, and bleeding I’d done only a few hours earlier.

Peter looked much better. The cuts and bruises on his face and arms were almost all gone, leaving only a few marks. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

He grimaced, and I noticed that his face was pink and his eyes darting around like fireflies. Embarrassed? But of what? “Pretty good,” he said, never one to complain. “Not perfect. My leg feels like someone tried to make a smoothie out of it and my back’s pretty achey. I’m kinda cold, too, which probably isn’t helping my healing.”

I almost raised an eyebrow. A suggestive sentence. Or maybe it only sounded like that to me because I was touch-starved and had perhaps, maybe, almost definitely, a massive crush on Peter. _Oh, god._ I remembered now. _Really like you._

_I really like you, too._

Had I really said that? To a hallucinating, highly-anaesthetised Peter? To someone who probably had had no idea who I was or what he was saying?

My only reassurance was that he almost definitely didn’t remember it. And that he _definitely_ didn’t know what I’d been thinking of the moment before Moonstone tried to kill me. About not ever getting the chance to kiss Peter. Because _that_ … Peter saw me as a little sister. _Everyone_ in the school knew he had a crush on MJ, or at least everyone who knew who he was, knew that. Even if he didn’t, it wasn’t as if anything would ever happen between us. If it did, we would end up wrecking my best-friendship.

“Oh?” was all I said. I was still staring at him. I shouldn’t stare. He would know I was staring, even though he was looking down at the book he was now turning over in his hands. “How come?”

 _Idiotic._ I _knew_ ‘how come’. I _knew_ that Peter couldn’t thermoregulate. I _knew_ that blankets meant nothing if he wasn’t actually producing his own heat.

He glanced at me before looking back down. _Yeah, he must think I’m stupid_. “I don’t produce heat,” he said finally. “Not like… not like you and other normal people do.” He cut himself off like he’d said something wrong. “I mean—not that you’re normal! I mean, you are normal! But not, like _boring_ normal! You’re just—you’re amazing! I just mean—I mean—you’re not, like, half-spider, like me—”

I managed a grin and he relaxed, blushing like a tomato. God, he was adorable. And yet somehow with the mussed-up bed hair and the pyjamas and the last hints of bruises on his skin, he managed to be adorable _and_ fit as hell. “Shut up, Peter. It’s fine.”

“Oh.” He glanced down again. “Would you—maybe…” He trailed off before swallowing and looking back up at me as if he had to force himself to do so. “Would you mind coming to sit next to me? Just, ‘cause, I’m, like, cold?”

My heart started to flutter. _It means nothing._ Just that Peter was cold. But _did_ it mean something? I was horrendously unprepared in the world of dating, relationships, and even crushes. My only experience was from rom-coms and movies, in which—of course—the love interest returned the feelings of the protagonist. Only, what happened when he _didn’t_?

“Sure,” I said, my tone purposefully light. I unfolded myself from the chair and settled next to Peter as he shuffled over. He _was_ cold, his skin like ice where we touched. My shoulder was against his, my knee against his, our feet brushing under the covers. We had slept in the same bed before. But that had always been sleeping. That had always been half-delirious, with one of us injured or panicking. And back then, I hadn’t had a raging crush on Peter. Now, we were both lucid, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how hard my heart was beating and that he could probably hear it and that we were in the same goddamn bed.

We sat there for two or three minutes, silent. At least it _felt_ like long, stretching minutes, but it probably wasn’t longer than thirty seconds of me trying so very hard not to think about Peter before he asked, “So what happened after I—you know—got knocked out?”

“I was already back at school,” I said, glad to have something else to think of. “And then Ned showed me on the news what happened to you, so I came to find you and brought you back here, and then—” My throat caught on the stupidity of my actions. “I went back to fight Moonstone.”

A moment of silence. “Sorry, _what?_ You went back to ‘find’ Moonstone, or to ‘fight’ Moonstone?”

“To fight her,” I clarified. The corners of my lips were twitching upwards at his shock, though it really wasn’t very funny. I had nearly died. I _would_ have died, if not for Captain Marvel. “I coaxed her into agreeing to fight without using her powers. Almost won, too. I had her pinned down with my knife about to stick through her brain, but she cheated. Threw a fireball at me. It was pretty rude.”

“She _what?”_ Peter twisted away from me, shifting so that we were face to face.

I tried to rush on through, distract him from the stupid shit I’d done. “And then Captain Marvel turned up and beat Moonstone to a pulp and then she came and healed me, which was pretty cool—”

“Olivia! What were you _thinking_? You could have been killed! We _knew_ we couldn’t fight her! And I wasn’t even there to protect you. Why couldn’t you have waited, or just— _not_ risked your life—”

“She tried to _kill_ you _,_ Peter.” I looked straight at him, straight into his eyes. Yeah, I’d done stupid stuff, but it hadn’t been without reason. And if I’d died—so what? I hadn’t been thinking straight, my head had been filled with anger, but would I have done anything different if I’d been sensible? Peter had almost died trying to stop her, and I had no right to do any less than him.“Was I just supposed to let that slide?”

“What, like you did it for _me_? That’s—”

“Yes, I did it for you!” The words burst from me like water from a dam. “Because she crushed you under a _building_.”

His eyes darkened at my words, but he didn’t look away. “I’m fine, Livvy, and why do you even care this much?”

“Because I care about you, Peter.” _I’m going to regret this._ My fingers were clenched tight in the sheets, adrenalin rushing. “And I knew that I couldn’t let her get free or hurt anyone else after what she did to you. _You_ wouldn’t have.”

I also knew that Peter wouldn’t have killed her, or even tried to. But he was a better person than I ever was. Where he was merciful, I was only ever angry. Especially when Peter was hurt.

He glanced down. I hated it. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. What did it _mean,_ when he looked away from me? Was he embarrassed? Uncomfortable at what I was saying? Had I offended him?

“Just for the record,” he said, his voice tight, “Please don’t enter any suicide fights for me. I would much rather you didn’t, because I… I care about you, too.”

I tried to ignore the beating of my heart. It could mean nothing. It could mean the way I cared about Morgan or, if I was lucky, MJ and Ned. “It wasn’t really a _suicide_ fight,” I said, trying to brush off the sudden panicking butterflies in my stomach. “I’m offended by your lack of faith in me, Parker.”

He smiled and huffed half a laugh. But his eyes… His eyes were very much focussed on my lips.

_Oh, shit._

_Is he going to_ kiss _me?_

We drifted closer. It was awkward, with both of us sitting, and our legs between us. I pushed myself up slightly, and our faces were that much closer. My cheeks were hot, my breath short.

_What if it’s like with Brad?_

Only, it wouldn’t be. I knew it already. Because Peter was kind and good and my _friend,_ and—

I realised again how very, very brown his eyes were, verging on golden orange. Like sunlight through liquor, or the bark of the oaks near the lake house.

His breath brushed my open lips.

Only millimetres stood between us.

My eyes fluttered closed, every cell in my body electric.

Peter flinched away, and I opened my eyes, cheeks burning. _Idiot. Of course he doesn’t want to kiss you._ But then I saw that his eyes were fixed on the door. It swung open, Ned and MJ pushing through. They rushed to our sides, Ned enveloping Peter in a hug. MJ eyed the distance—or lack thereof—between me and Peter before I shifted and forced myself to wrap an arm around her. They’d interrupted. But if they hadn’t? What would have happened?

I could almost feel the soft, sweet touch of his lips on mine. But it hadn’t quite happened. My heart was still pounding, my focus too shot-through to listen to anything Ned was babbling on about.

I sighed, and caught a glance from Peter. His gaze was gone as fast as it had appeared, but it had me thinking.

He looked almost as disappointed as I felt.


	44. Carol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a chapter. Also i decided not to add onto the previous chapter because it seemed a faff and a comment suggested that I not so this is all there is for today :) enjoy

I pushed the thought of mine and Peter’s almost-kiss out of my head and forced myself to listen to Ned.

“We watched the whole thing on the news at school, man! It was _sick_! Except obviously, like, really terrifying but _dude,_ I can’t believe you got crushed by a building _again!_ I mean—”

Peter was staring at Ned. “It was on the _news_?”

“Well yeah, man, I mean this Moonstone lady destroyed like ten blocks, and people _died_ and shit. Of _course_ it was on the news. I saw you try and fight her and—”

“Wait, _what?”_ I twisted to stare at Peter, my brow furrowed. “You _fought_ her? What happened to ‘We _knew_ we couldn’t fight her’?”

He looked sheepish and turned his gaze down again. “Well—I wasn’t gonna—but then she started going after the people instead of just the buildings and I couldn’t just let them die…” He trailed off, glancing up at me.

 _Goddamnit._ I felt like crying. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ He was a superhero. He was Spider-Man. But above all, he was Peter Parker, and I was surprised that he’d put others’ lives above his own? I swallowed, pushing past the difficulty to breathe, and looked back at Ned and MJ. They looked uncomfortable, Ned half-gripping his phone in his pocket.

“ _You_ fought her.”

MJ was leaning on the wall, her arms crossed. She was the same, cool, collected MJ as always, her hair frizzy but not unkempt, her gaze observant but not panicked. She was waiting for an explanation.

“That’s different.” I bristled. It _was_ different, somehow. Perhaps because I’d been doing it for selfish, violent reasons, whilst Peter was good and selfless and protecting. If I died, it would have been my own damn fault for picking a fight above my pay grade. If _Peter_ had died, it would have been everyone’s fault but his.

Ned lifted his phone, the screen lit up in dark colours. “It’s here, if you wanna see it.”

Peter took the phone and I reluctantly shifted closer to him again. I was careful to keep a band of air between the two of us, and obviously did _not_ look at his tightly squared jaw or the defined, compact curve of his arm as he held out the phone.

The scene on the screen was familiar. Browns, blacks, and greys. Lumps of stone, brick, and metal, with shards of shattered glass dotting the ground. Crushed cars and the occasional still body, and a sky barely visible through the clouds of dust and smoke. Spider-Man stood in the foreground, his back to the camera, far enough away that the mic didn’t pick up his words properly. Opposite him stood Moonstone, still giving off an aura of light. This was right after I’d left. This was when Peter told me he was going to meet me at the school.

They spoke for another thirty seconds or so, the camera shaking, before Moonstone’s glow returned in full force. She propelled herself upward, away from the city. She was leaving. She was higher than the tallest skyscraper in milliseconds. Peter was able to leave, to swing off the camera, back towards school. But then someone shouted, the words clear despite the shoddy camera quality. _“Who are you?”_ someone asked.

Moonstone stopped.

Moonstone shot straight back down.

There were shouts, screams—the camera hit the floor, the world sideways—before it was scooped up and the person was running. Twice as far away, the person stopped. _Stupid._ The camera turned back towards the centre of the patch of destruction, where a web stuck on a building and Spider-Man shot back into the frame. A flash of white connected him to Moonstone, now skimming over the city’s surface. She let out a scream and fell from the air. From just the webs?

“Taser webs,” Ned clarified, nodding as if it was the coolest thing in the world. It was the _stupidest_ thing in the world. The bravest as well, maybe, but the stupidest. She turned and shot back towards Peter. Threw a punch, which he dodged. Swept her leg out to trip him, and he somersaulted over her. A fireball flew towards him and he was already out of the way. His Spidey-sense.

But she let out a scream of rage, and took off again. She disappeared from the screen, and within seconds the building behind Peter was crumbling down on him. He looked up—he saw it, and I knew he felt it too—but he could do nothing. He disappeared under the mountain of rock and rubble.

My stomach tightened, though I knew he was fine. He was here. He was sitting right next to me, awake and moving and not in pain. The worst that was left over was a few bruises and scrapes. But she had _crushed_ him. Out of boredom.

Peter’s entire body was tensed in front of me.

“You’re okay,” I found myself saying before I realised I was thinking it. My hand came up to hover over his shoulder. When Peter was hurt, I couldn’t help but comfort him. He seemed to sink into the touch, and that gave me the courage I needed to let my hand come to rest on him. “You’re okay, Peter. You’re out.”

“Thanks to _you._ ” He nodded towards the clip, focussed on Moonstone who was again flying straight through buildings before watching them crumble. But in the bottom corner a girl, dressed in black, was pulling rocks away from the pile that had buried Peter, in a frenzied, frantic manner. Me. After a second, she plunged her hand into a crack before disappearing.

“You’d do the same for me,” I said, still focussed on the video. I hadn’t even looked like me. Dressed in black, my hair wild around me and darker from all the dust and smoke clogged in it, but mostly my actions. So… Desperate.

Ned touched the scroll bar and skipped a minute or two, and when the screen slowed, the camera was shaking and moving. It finally stilled enough for me to see _me._ My wings were curved in front of me. I stood, the wings unfurled to my sides like an avenging angel’s, my silhouette stark black against the background of wild flame. Tiny, burning sparks lifted and fell around me. I was lit with a red glow. Even from this distance, my eyes were like hot coals, smouldering and promising pain at the woman I faced. The knives at my side appeared flaming, their mirror surfaces writhing with red-blue glare.

It looked like the cover of an album or the poster of a film, the colours contrasting and every feature strong. Despite the shaking of the camera, the quality was actually pretty good. If I hadn’t looked so different to the real me, I would’ve been worried that people would recognise me.

The me-on-camera stalked towards Moonstone. They stood for a second before launching into a whirlwind fight. We were a blur on the camera, spinning and jumping.

“That’s… Wow,” Peter breathed beside me. “Somehow you manage to be terrifying and beautiful at the same time?”

I snorted, ignoring the fact that he had called me beautiful. “Thanks.” He was still staring down at the screen, entranced, so clearly he hadn’t been thinking about his words.

“It’s true,” Ned said matter-of-factly. “You _are_ terrifying. Even more than in real life.”

“Hey!” I frowned. “I’m not terrifying in real life.”

Ned just gave me a look.

“It’s so badass,” Ned continued as if he was stuck in a dream. “I’m friends with _two_ superheroes. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

I just shrugged. “Peter wanted—”

The door swung open. I lashed out on instinct, grabbing the phone and pressing it down into the sheets. Tony entered, and I smiled at him as sweet as I could, ignoring Peter and Ned’s confused looks. If Tony saw us watching the news, he would look at it too. And if he looked at it, there was a much higher chance he would be clued in on who the mysterious new ‘superhero’ was.

“I’m retired and—see?” He gestured towards Peter, still talking to someone beyond the door. “He’s awake. I’m needed.”  
“Tony, you’re not a doctor,” Pepper said, sounding semi-cross.

“No, but I _am_ a genius. And I’m Iron Man.” He smirked in our direction and I just rolled my eyes back.

“If you’re Iron Man, you should be out there talking to the press.” Pepper sounded pretty done with Peter. I wondered how long she’d been trying to convince Tony to do press.

“Alright, I’m _not_ Iron Man. I’m a concerned father-figure to a young superhero who—” Through the tiny gap in the door, I saw Pepper turn and walk away. “Love you, honey!” Tony called out. “I’ll see you in bed!” He let out a laugh as the door swung shut and turned around. “How you doing, underoos?”

“I’m—good—fine—swell—” Peter spluttered. Was it the ‘father-figure’? I would bet it was the ‘father-figure’ that had done that. Had they even discussed the fact that Tony was now much closer to Peter than a normal boss was?

“Can see the wonder-twins found their way in here.” He eyed Michelle and Ned with a wrinkled nose. Ned looked terrified, though I knew for a fact he had met my dad dozens of times before, while MJ just looked entertained. “Honestly, those two rival Birdman and Ginger for their ability to get into places they shouldn’t be.”

MJ cracked a smile. She liked Black Widow, that much I knew.

“Anywho,” Tony turned to me. “You holding up, Kiddo?”

“I’m just peachy,” I replied. “Disappointed I missed the action.”

He narrowed his eyes. Had I gone too far? Had he watched video footage of the fight? Did he know it was me that had been fighting? But after a second he just said, “You know, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, but FRIDAY showed me footage of you in the living room while all the shit was going down, so for now you’re safe, Merida.”

I frowned—both at the name and the CCTV. Because I _hadn’t_ been in the living room when ‘shit was going down’. But MJ winked at me out of the corner of my eye. Had she _hacked_ into FRIDAY? That was… impressive. And intuitive. “Why am I Merida?” I asked instead.

“Take a look in a mirror, kiddo. Your hair is bigger than the United States of America.”

I glared at him. I’d been asleep only a fifteen minutes ago. It wasn’t _my_ fault that my hair naturally gravitated towards cloud-state. But at least he’d been distracted. He wasn’t thinking about Olivia-as-a-crazy-superhero. Thanks to MJ, I assumed.

“Alright, kiddos. There’s someone waiting upstairs to talk to you—well, Spider-baby and Ms Frizzle, I assume, unless Captain Danvers has a particular interest in hearing about the average high schooler’s everyday experiences, but I’m sure you’re welcome to tag alone.”

Ned’s face lit up at the name _Captain Danvers_ but ice spread through my veins. She’d seen me. She’d seen me close up. Did she know it had been _me_? On the one hand, I didn’t want to flatter myself into thinking that Carol Danvers knew very well who I was, but on the other hand, she wasn’t _stupid._ And I couldn’t really risk it.

I rushed out of the room, brushing past Tony. “You’d almost think she’d find an overpowered space woman more interesting than her old man,” I heard him say. _Thank god for Tony and his tendency to make everything about himself,_ I thought, though I knew it wasn’t true.

I teleported straight to the kitchen, disappearing halfway between one step and the next.

Carol Danvers was, indeed, sitting at the breakfast bar, wearing a leather jacket over her signature red-white-and-gold outfit. She turned, not even flinching at my sudden appearance, and grinned. “There she is. The woman herself.”

I walked straight up to her and stopped with only inches between us. I had to look down to her as she was sitting, but that didn’t make me feel any more in control of the situation. “Captain Danvers,” I said. “You can’t tell them.”

Her smirk widened, her eyes narrowing. “So it _was_ you,” she said softly. My heart dropped right through my stomach. She hadn’t been sure, then, and I’d given it right to her. “Thought so. You did a good job, Miss Stark. Impressive. If it hadn’t been for her powers, I’m certain you would’ve won.” She stood and wandered around the breakfast bar. I could only stare at her. She picked up a pear from the fruit bowl and tossed it into the air before catching it and looking me straight in the eye with a warm, teasing gaze. “I like the wings.”

“Please, Ma’am.” I knew my eyes were wide with desperation, my weakness evident, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. This was i _mportant._ “My parents can’t know.”

“Have you heard what they’re calling you?” Carol ignored me, instead rounding the breakfast bar and leaning against it, near me again. “Early on someone called you ‘Lady Falcon’ but, thank god, it hasn’t stuck. Pretty sure the old ‘Falcon’ is now ‘Captain America’, so they could’ve just gone with plain old ‘Falcon’, but I guess that was too obvious.”

I _really_ didn’t care what they were calling me. It was a name, for god’s sake! Did it _matter_? What I needed to now know was whether I had to be hiding my suit or coming up with far-fetched explanations. “Please—”

“The name that stuck is much better.” Her eyes were warm, but I wished she would tell me what I wanted to know! “‘Phoenix’. Think it comes from the image of you, rising from the flames, wings spread. Very poetic. Badass, too—”

“Captain Danvers, I _really_ need to know if you’re going to tell my parents or not. They wouldn’t let me do this anymore, and I _need_ to—”

“You need to _what_?” She levelled her gaze. Finally listening. “Because you did an amazing job out there. Truly, you saved lives. But you’re a kid. You should be _allowed_ to be a kid. You don’t have to be a hero.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero. But there’s something I have to do—” _My mother died to stop the Mandarin and now they’re back and it doesn’t make sense—_ “And I need my suit. I need my weapons. I need to know that you won’t take this away from me.”

Her gaze was even, appraising. “There’s no one else that could do this thing?”

I shook my head without thinking. “It has to be me. They—they killed my mom.”

She slid onto a stool and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell your parents.”

“Because they would take away my suit. They would stop me.”

“Is that such a bad thing? You’re just a kid, Olivia. I know you feel like you’re grown up. I know you feel like you can do this, but—”

“I _can_ do this. You saw me out there. You saw me almost beat Moonstone, even though she is on the level of literal _gods_.” I was breathing hard. I was going to say something I would regret. I didn’t care. Because it wasn’t _fair._ It wasn’t fair that they were allowed to break laws and take down terrorists and do what was _right,_ and I wasn’t because—because the number on my passport still said _15_? “You _know_ what I can do. But you and every other adult out there doesn’t want to believe that I’m capable of doing this. You all think I have to _prove_ something to you, but I don’t. I know I can do this. You just have to give me the chance.”

She stilled, as if something I’d said had struck a chord within her.

My fingers were twisted together, pressing hard. Every muscle in me was tight. She was going to tell Pepper and Tony. I would never get the chance to avenge my mother. I wouldn’t be able to take down the Mandarin. And even if they did it themselves—I _wanted_ this. I _wanted_ this life of danger and adrenaline and hope and fear and triumph. I wanted to help people, to save lives, to make the world a better place. Pepper and Tony would tell me to do it by getting an education, to get a degree and become a lawyer or a doctor or a politician, but _this_ was what I wanted.

“Alright,” she said, looking at me again. “I’ll give you your chance. But you have to tell me exactly what’s going on and what you’re gonna do about it, and—”

There was a _ding_ as the elevator doors slid open, and Peter, Ned, and MJ spilled out.

“Oh my god,” MJ said, for the first time actually speechless. “You’re Carol Danvers.”

 

####

 

I couldn’t tell who was more likely to explode when Pepper managed to wrangle Carol into staying for dinner and a movie night: MJ, or Ned. Fair enough. I was pretty excited, too, the only thing holding me back being the sooner Carol was out of here, the sooner I was safe from her tattling on me. But still. I’d grown up with the Avengers, but she was something else. She was… _Captain Marvel._

Yeah.

Pretty cool.

We ordered pizza, despite it being nearly nine at night. Morgan was staying at her friend Kamala’s house again, right away from Manhattan’s ‘ring of destruction’, and that was entirely to keep her away from a hurt and healing Peter. Carol hadn’t offered to clear up the rest of his injuries like she’d done with mine, and I didn’t know if that was because they weren’t serious, she knew he had his own healing, or that she didn’t want to plant the possibility in my parents’ minds that I could, in fact, have been the girl they were calling ‘Phoenix’.

Ned told me the name was “the most amazing thing he’d ever heard. (Yes, dude, it’s better than ‘Spider-Man’,” And MJ admitted that it was “pretty dope”, so I was happy. Designs were floating around in my mind of a newer suit, run through with red and gold over my signature black.

“So in Kree society, inequality was mainly caused by class differences between the blue-skinned and the pink-skinned people?” MJ asked, eyes narrowed as they always were when she was really stuck into something. All dinner she’d been raining down on Captain Danvers with hundreds of questions about other planets. It was probably Christmas come early for her sociological interests.

Carol had answered all her questions in an admirably patient manner, this one the same as all the rest.

I stood, stacking plates and carrying them to the sink. Tony and Pepper were by the elevator, quietly talking. I leaned back against the breakfast bar, watching MJ watching Carol as she drew some kind of diagram of how different species related to each other within the Kree system. Ned seemed utterly confused, and at one point asked Peter what species Carol was. I snorted. He’d been paying way too much attention to her lips, and not enough to her words, I was pretty sure.

“Livia?”

I turned. Pepper was holding a piece of paper with fine black print. She was holding a smile back and purposefully not showing me the letter. “So,” she said, “We just got sent this. It’s not 100% final, the social worker still has to come around to give us the changed forms, but it’s all ready to go through, and—”

I pulled the piece of paper from her hands. _Dear Mr and Mrs Stark-Potts, Our most sincere congratulations on the successful adoption of Olivia Maria Hansen, soon to be Olivia Maria Stark. We hope you—_

I looked up at Pepper, eyes wide. There was the hint of tears glistening in her eyes, a soft smile creasing her face. “Is this…” _Real? Really happening? What you actually wanted?_

She nodded, and wrapped her arms around me. I returned the gesture in a daze. _Adopted._

“ _I’m honoured to call you my daughter,_ ” she whispered, and I fought back tears.

_Family._

Another pair of arms wrapped around us both, one of them metal. Tony. “God, can’t believe you guys would hug without me. You think you know someone, and they go and betray you…”

I laughed through my tears, and Tony yelped as Pepper mock-thumped him.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” he said softly, all joking gone from his voice. “It means a lot that I’m finally your dad.”

I squeezed tighter, swallowing.

“Hey!” Carol called from the dining room table. “Are we watching a movie, or not?”

I pulled away. “Only if it’s set in space. I want to know how realistic it all is.”

“Well, for one, there’s a grand total of _two_ humans in space at the moment, so I would start off by saying ‘not very’?”

“Not Star Wars,” Tony cut in. “If I have to watch Spider-baby and Wonder-Twin number one over there mouth along to every single line, I might actually die.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Carol said, directing her words at Peter. “How spider are you?”

“Well—” Peter started, but Tony interrupted.

“What, you mean like does he lay eggs?” He smirked, crossing his arms.

Carol raised an eyebrow and turned back to Peter. “ _Do_ you?”

“No!” he spluttered. “Of course not!”

“What about the webbing stuff; does that come out of you?”

“No!” he repeated.

“That’s so hentai,” MJ said, her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled.

Carol looked at her and grimaced. “Do I even want to know what ‘hentai’ is?”


	45. Carol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I've been in absentia. Very busy time!! I'm going on holiday in two days but Imma try to finish this story before then. (Don't worry, I already have a sequel planned, if you guys are interested!) Enjoy this chapter.

I glared at Carol. She looked perfect—lively, sharp, enthusiastic (or at least as enthusiastic as Carol Danvers ever was)—while MJ, Peter, Ned, and I were all blurry-eyed and yawning. Peter and I managed to actually listen, though, given our hours of sleep in the hospital room.

“Really?” she said, levelling her dry gaze at us. “None of y’all seem very awake. Or at all ready.”

“You dragged us out of bed at two in the morning and made me teleport you to a _closed coffee shop,_ ” I grumbled, wincing as I felt the bags under my eyes. “We’re not _supposed_ to be ‘ready’ for anything.”

She shrugged. “You said you wanted to keep this from your parents. This seemed logical.”

“That’s because _you_ don’t need _sleep,_ ” Ned said. It was probably the first time I’d ever heard him seem put-out towards a superhero that wasn’t Peter. No giddy disbelief or wide-eyed worship, just furrowed eyebrows and a hand wrapped around a mug of tea.

“Anyway,” Carol said, still smiling, “Are you gonna tell me about what’s been going on, or do you want me to tell your parents what you get up to?”

Peter’s eyes widened. Yeah, I hadn’t exactly _told_ him about Carol’s threat. Hadn’t exactly talked to him at all, other than the necessary ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s and can you pass the pizza’s. Ned, though, became truly hysterical. He slammed the mug of tea down and pushed himself up. “Wait, _what_? I’m gonna get to hear what’s been going down?”

MJ groaned. “Keep it down, loser. I’m trying to mind-nap over here. Can’t you just take me back home?”

“Nope.” I pulled her back into her chair. “You’re staying here.”

Carol was still waiting expectantly and I sighed before starting. I related the events with faltering detail, skipping back to fill in things I thought were important, starting with the attack on the school and my kidnap, ending with the treatment from the documents being labelled ‘safe’ by a doctor.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead before looking up at her. My eyes were properly heavy now, trying to drag me back to the depths of sleep, but I forced myself to think. Captain Marvel was practically the most powerful person in the entire universe, (Okay, I wasn’t sure about _that,_ but it _could_ have been true.) and I would be stupid not to listen to her.

But on the other hand, sleep.

“So?” I prompted. “What do you think?”

She frowned and straightened in the seat. “To be perfectly honest, I think it’s more boring than what I’ve been getting up to. But other than that, yup, sounds great. Tell me again about the teleportation and the device that gave it to you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and open again and forced my mouth to move. “It was like a snow globe but bigger, and there was this glowing blue stuff in it. It looked like the photos I’ve seen of the aether, if that means anything to you. And, um… They said it came from an alien ship? And that most of their other ones had exploded, causing the scientists stood around to disappear? And… now I can just visualise a place or a person and I appear there?”

She hmmed, still frowning. As if there was something more to all this.

“Why?” I asked, forcing away a yawn. “Do you know something about it?”

She shrugged. “The alien spaceship that the energy core came from. I think I may know something about _that.”_

“You know how I got my powers?”

“It sounds like a Rigellian transporter. They’re an alien race from the EGS-zs8-1 galaxy, lightyears away. They’re colonisers. But they wanted a quicker way to get around so they could colonise more planets. I thought I destroyed those teleportation devices.”

“Because they would use them to killing people?” Peter asked.

She gave a half-nod. “And because there were rumours they were working on a version that could travel through time. To different dimensions, even. Total colonisation across the whole universe, every dimension, every time. The past, present, and future of everywhere would belong to them, in theory. The rumours were never confirmed but I destroyed the teleportation cores anyway. Or at least I thought I did.” She pushed her chair back, scraping against the floor, and stood. “This is bad news.”

“But it was _destroyed,_ Ms. Carol,” Ned said. “All the ones here on earth were destroyed. The only remnant is Olivia’s powers.”

“Maybe,” she said, looking at us. Her gaze was appraising. “Either way, I’m fairly sure I should look into it.”

“Now?” This time, I stood, unsure. Even MJ was rousing herself from where she was slumped in a chair to look at Carol. “Just—you’re going now?”

“Why not? In my books, the sooner you can stop an inter-planetary, inter-dimensional space invasion, the better.”

I shared a glance with Peter, our awkwardness forgotten. I didn’t know what it was. Just that this felt so sudden, and the _one_ adult who might have been able to help us with our problems, without creating more problems, was leaving. Did I _want_ her help?

“Is something wrong?” she asked, turning to look at us fully.

“Nope,” I replied. “Everything’s good. Have fun in space!” I flashed a smile and turned back towards the others. Peter was staring at me, his gaze quizzical. He looked away as soon as he noticed my attention. I pulled my gaze away as well, and looked at the other two. Ned was frowning, tired, and MJ was half out of her chair, glancing between me and Carol. “You guys ready to go back home?”

Peter nodded, but there was a distinct lack of reply given how tired they all were, and I was too.

“Hey, kid,” Carol said, and I forced myself to turn back. She was holding something in her hand, small and black and cylindrical. “I’m kinda assuming you got those knives from your kitchen, and I think you need something a little better than that, so… here you go.” She held the object out to me and I realised there was more than one.

I took them and turned them over in my hands. Just small, black cylinders, about the size of a glue stick but perhaps thicker. “What are they?” I looked up at Carol.

“Give me two seconds,” she said, taking the cylinders back and pressing a button on the side. I pulled back when she held one of them to the side of my head, but after her raised eyebrow stood still. “There you go,” she said. “Give them one good shake.”

I shifted my grip, stepped back into the aisle, and jolted my hands up and down. Black metal shot from the handles, stretching until I was holding two batons, each a foot long, and glistening. It _wasn’t_ metal, I realised. It was some sort of carbon base, like my wings.

“And again,” Carol said, sounding smug.

I glanced up at her, speechless, and did as she said. The batons morphed, thinning and lengthening until blades stretched past my knees. Almost swords, but too delicate, they were wicked-thin, curved like an assassin’s from a film. Like my own knives, except actually meant for combat rather than chopping meat.

“And again,” she said, and I gave another shake.

I almost dropped the knives. Flame shot up the blade, like a fire-eater’s sword, except… this stuff looked _real._ Sure enough, after a few seconds the blade began to glow orange. Phoenix, indeed. The orange-and-red light of the flame half-lit the dark corner of the closed coffee shop we were standing in.

“Where the hell did you get those?” asked MJ, staring. That was exactly what I wanted to know.

She shrugged. “Won ‘em off a gambler in Contraxia. I was keeping ‘em cause they’re so small that they can be hidden, and if anyone ever figures out a way to turn off my powers I wanna be able to still fight. But you’d make a better use of them.”

I stared at her, my mouth open. “But…” My brain felt like mush. This was… This was just _mad._ She had given me _flaming_ _space_ _knives_? That could also be used as batons? And folded down to gluestick-size?

What the hell was my life now?

“If you move like you’re going to sheathe them again, they’ll collapse back to pill form,” Carol said. I raised an eyebrow at her and looked back to the flaming knives in front of me. I wasn’t wearing my suit, and therefore wasn’t wearing the black knife sheathes that were strapped to my thighs on them. I was wearing instead a pair of shorts (too short shorts) and a baggy basketball t-shirt. My suit was thankfully flameproof, but my legs _weren’t_. Still, I moved like I was going to sheathe them, except five inches further from my thighs than it should have been. The flame blinked out at the movement and collapsed back into tiny black cylinders.

“That’s so…,” Ned started.

“Badass.” MJ gave a decisive nod.

“I was going to say ‘Game of Thrones’, but yeah.” Ned was staring, as was MJ, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

I didn’t dare look at Peter until he murmured something intelligible.

“What?” I asked, and he immediately turned red.

“Nothing!” He stammered. “I mean—I just meant—you know, the fire—that’s—I didn’t—”

“No, what did you _say_?” I asked.

He just stared. A very different stare to Ned’s or MJ’s. “Nothing?” he tried, very obviously a question.

I narrowed my eyes at him. I was tempted to think that he had said ‘hot’ given that he’d tried to excuse it as to do with the fire, but this was _Peter._ He was so, like, innocent. I couldn’t imagine him ever getting with anyone. Or finding anyone ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’. I mean, ‘beautiful’, yeah, even ‘cute’ or ‘pretty’, but ‘hot’? That was _not_ a Peter word. And definitely not about me.

I decided I didn’t really want to know what he had said.

“Okie dokie, whatever,” I said and turned back to Carol. She was observing Peter with a smirk on her lips. “Captain Danvers, honestly we cannot thank you enough. Well— _I_ cannot thank you enough. I mean—this—this is brilliant. Now I can give Pepper her knives back.” Not that she’d noticed, given I’d taken them from the lake house kitchen and we hadn’t been back there as a family since school started.

She tore her gaze away from Peter and pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against. “You’re welcome, Miss Stark. I wish you every success. If I find out any more about the Rigellian teleportation devices, I’ll get back to you. Tell your parents I say thank you for dinner and the movie.”

I nodded and gave her a brief smile, but she was already walking. She unlatched the window, jumped out of it, and a flash of gold shot across the sky as she disappeared towards space.

“What’s she doing with the Moonstone?” Ned asked after a second of us all staring up at the sky.

“She’s taking her to a prison with someone called the Sovereign?” I replied. That was one thing I _did_ know, even if I was still unsure about what Peter had said. “Super-powerful-space-police or something?”

“Wicked,” he whispered, still staring at the sky, but there were black circles under his eyes and it didn’t escape my attention that he was still wearing his star wars pyjamas.

“I want to sleep,” MJ grumbled and I nodded. She hooked her arm through mine, a rare instance of voluntary physical contact, while Ned placed his hand on my shoulder. Peter didn’t look at me as he let the lightest of touches fall on my arm and I tried not to feel hurt.

We reappeared in the living room where piles of mattresses, cushions, blankets, and pillows were spread across the floor for Ned and Peter. MJ immediately started back towards my room where she was in the other half of my double bed and I trailed after her.

Part of me wanted to talk to Peter. To assure him that the almost-kiss had meant nothing, even though it sort of… had. For me, at least. To tell him that we should just go back to as it was before. That would make everything so much easier. But I didn’t _want_ it to. I wanted to go out with him and kiss him and call him my boyfriend.

God, I was getting soppy.

I crossed my arms over my chest as I walked backwards towards the bedroom, facing the boys as they rearranged their beds. “You guys good? Can I… get you anything?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Ned said immediately, then glanced at Peter.

Oh, god. Peter. He was shirtless. I knew that he slept shirtless. I swear, I did. And I had probably seen out of the corner of my eye that he had been taking his shirt off to go back to sleep, but I just hadn’t processed that, after he took his shirt off, he would be shirtless. Or that I would be staring at his abs. His very defined, beautiful, sculpted abs.

He stared right back at me, stammering about how he’d thought I had gone.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” I pointed behind me and began to turn. _Jesus,_ he was _ripped._ I mean, I knew it, and I had seen him shirtless before, but _damn._ My cheeks were getting hot.

“Oh, no—you don’t—I mean, you don’t have to go!” he whisper-hissed.

I paused and half-turned back towards him. Ned was staring between me and Peter. Peter was staring at me, cheeks red. I was staring at him, my eyebrows raised. “Really?” I said. “‘Cause you seem kinda… shirtless.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Yeah. I’ll just—”

“You know what?” Ned said. “Olivia, could I have a look at that document you were talking about, with the Extremis and the photos? You said there was one in your room, didn’t you? I’m gonna go have a look at that.”

He rushed off, out of the room in seconds with only a backwards glance at Peter that I didn’t catch. I just looked back at Peter. “Everything okay?” I asked.

_Maybe if I don’t talk about it, we can just pretend that nothing happened._

“I feel like we should… talk,” he said.

_Ah, shit. Maybe not._

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Um.” I glanced backwards. “I just don’t wanna wake up my parents. Do you wanna maybe—” I pointed towards the balcony and he nodded, tugging his t-shirt back on as I slid the glass door back.

The city was as loud as ever, despite the massive crater-like circle in the middle of Manhattan. Cars rushed by below, shouts and voices ballooned upwards from the streets, and there was even a helicopter’s chopping coming from somewhere. We took up our usual places, balanced on the balcony’s rail with our legs hanging over the city.

“So,” I said, “What did you want to talk about?”

He took a breath and I readied myself for the _It was wrong. It’s all wrong. We can’t be together, I like someone else_ talk, or even worse for a completely unrelated topic that proved my new-found infatuation with Peter. “I’m really sorry,” he said, making it sound like a question. “For what happened earlier? I mean, I’m just—I was so stupid for doing that when—”

“It’s fine, Peter,” I found myself cutting him off. Strange: I wasn’t one for emotional discussion, but if it was to cut off an apology I did just fine. Especially if it was an apology for not crushing on me back. “I get it. Mistakes happen, we were confused, I mean—hell—we’d almost died, and it was all kinda crazy and shit happens. It’s all good. We can just forget about it.”

I forced a considerate smile on my face and looked at Peter. His hair was still ruffled from running his hand through it, his eyes only a little sharper than they had been twenty minutes ago, his arms tucked into his sides I assumed from the cold. All in all, cute as hell. And not mine.

I ignored the cracking in my chest and just smiled at him instead. It was fake as shit, but I’d gotten pretty good at fake-smiling over the years.

“Oh,” he replied. “You—oh. Yeah. I mean, yeah, sure. That… That happens… Forget about it…”

“Yep,” I said, glancing back inside. Ned still wasn’t back, but I wasn’t sure how much I could take of being rejected. “I mean, one of us likes someone else—” (Was it MJ? Because I hadn’t seen her look at her _like that,_ but maybe he was just too much of a gentleman to look at someone _like that—)_ “And it just wouldn’t work, so…”

I hoped he would at least think I was taking it well. If I could fool him into thinking that it had been as much of a mistake for me as it had been for him—if he thought I thought it was ‘stupid’, like he did—then maybe we could salvage our friendship.

_I need this friendship._

If I lost Peter, I would lose MJ and Ned, too.

_I need Peter._

I would be alone again, back to how it was before

A yawn came to the surface, and I let it come. “I’m pretty tired,” I said, swallowing, “So I might just go to bed, but—um—I’m glad we sorted this out, and—”

“Yeah,” Peter said immediately. “Definitely.” He swung back over the balcony rail and put out a hand to help me back. I took it on instinct, my warm grip against his cold hand, and my breath caught at the contact. I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to hold his hand as we walked down the street, I wanted to hold his hand as we sat at a cafe table eating lunch, I wanted to hold his hand as we lay in bed, chatting for hours.

But I wouldn’t get to.

I let go of his hand and he forced a smile at me as we crossed back into the living room. “Night,” I choked out as I ducked back into my room. Ned stood, clutching the file of Extremis documents, and I forced the tears back for one more second. “Night, Ned,” I said, and he trailed out of the room, looking confused. I clicked the door shut behind him.

MJ lay right across the middle of the bed, her arm thrown out across my pillow. I shifted her arm and tried to roll her back across, and she groaned and pulled away. “What happened?” she grumbled.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Just I’m pretty sure Peter told me he doesn’t like me which is fine you know but I was wondering, is it _you_ he likes?”

MJ frowned and pushed herself up on her elbows. “ _Me? G_ od, I hope not. You know I’m gay, right?”

I raised an eyebrow but tried to hide my surprise. “Oh, no, I actually hadn’t known that. Does Peter?”

“Um, _yeah,_ ” she said like it was obvious. “Like, everyone does. Except for my parents and my half-brothers, but they don’t really count. Anyway, it would be pretty tragic if Peter had a crush on me, seeing as I have a forever love for Michelle Obama.”

I snorted. “Classy crush.”

She lay back. “It’s not a crush. It’s destined romance.”

“Sure, sure.” I lay back next to her. “That’s… odd, then. I wonder who it is.”

“What exactly did he say?”

I shrugged and rolled onto my side to face her. “Nothing much, really. Just that it was stupid that we almost kissed and that he shouldn’t have done it—”

“Wait, _what?_ When did you almost kiss?”

I blushed. It felt stupid to blush now, seeing as I’d been rejected by him. I couldn’t really be proud of it, could I? “Oh, like, earlier. Just before you and Ned burst into the hospital room. But nothing actually happened.”

She thumped the pillow. “I _knew_ it! I _knew_ that you were sitting way too close to be normal! But bitch, if he almost kissed you then why do you think he doesn’t like you?”

“Because he was _apologising_ for it. You don’t apologise for almost-kissing someone unless it was a mistake and it’s never going to happen again.”

“Not necessarily.” She turned to stare at the ceiling. “Maybe he’s sorry because he’s about to be kidnapped by aliens or he has some kind of terminal disease and he’s sorry that he’s going to leave you as a widow.”

I snorted. “That sounds likely. You’re making me feel so much better.”

She frowned at me. “You really like him?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Probably just a silly crush. He’s the first guy I’ve ever really properly known, you know. It’s probably some kind of rite of passage. First male friend.” _Yes, this is normal. This crippling disappointment and need to cry._

“Oh, girl,” MJ said with a sympathetic smile. This was easily the most human and compassionate I’d ever seen her, more even than when I’d been shot. “Well, if you ever need an alibi when someone happens to murder that idiot, I can offer you on for free.”

I laughed. Had she just told me she would help me get away with his murder? So MJ. “I’ll let you know if that ever comes up.”

“Yup. Anyways we can talk about this more in the morning, or beat his ass, but I’m more ready for rest than the Jonas brothers’ reboot, so don’t talk to me unless I’ve slept eleven hours or drank six cups of coffee. Preferably both.”

“Sure.” I rolled over and let a tear trickle down my cheek. Just one. I wasn’t about to bawl my eyes out over some guy. I didn’t even like him _that_ much. It was just Peter. We were better off as friends anyway. And it wasn’t like I’d ever gotten my hopes up. He wasn’t the last guy in the world.

I fell asleep with a sick, disappointed feeling in my stomach anyway.

 

#####

 

_“What the hell, man?”_ Ned whispered as he flopped down on the mattress. “Why did Olivia just look like her puppy had been killed? Why didn’t she look like she’d just been given three new puppies, plus a giraffe?”

Peter frowned. That was an… _odd_ analogy. He peeled his hands away from his face and looked at Ned. “Because she doesn’t like me.” His voice cracked a tiny bit, and Ned’s expression changed from confusion to sympathy. “She basically just broke up with me. How has someone broken up with me despite the fact that I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’m the only guy in the world that’s ever had more break ups than relationships.”

“Oh, no! _Dude._ That’s not true. I’m sure there are loads of other guys that this has happened to. And maybe she just misunderstood. I mean, did you manage to ask her out?”

“No,” Peter groaned. “I just started apologising for being weird with her earlier, and she immediately said it was a mistake and that she liked someone else.”

“ _Who?_ ”

“I don’t know, do I? She just said that one of us liked someone else so it wouldn’t work. I just hope it’s someone nice. She deserves someone good. God, how did I ever think this would work?” He rolled over and buried his face in the pillows. He would have to face Olivia the next morning, and yeah she’d said ‘We can just forget about it’, but would she? Or would she never come near him again?

Probably the second.

“This is probably gonna screw everything up with Mr Stark as well,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. “He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong and that I’m a total creep who’s not good enough for his daughter and it’s just—”

“Olivia won’t tell him,” Ned tried to soothe Peter. “We can just forget about this and move on, and—”

Peter let out a heavy groan, barely audible with his face dug into a pillow. “I’ve messed everything up. She’s gonna hate me now. At the very least it was gonna be super awkward. And the necklace I bought her got broke in the battle, and _ugh._ This is such a failure.”

“Yeah, man.” Ned rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Bachelors forever, I guess.”

“That’s so comforting.”

“Don’t worry Peter. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thanks, Ned.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“Thanks, Ned.”

“You should get some sleep. Everything looks brighter in the morning!”

Peter sighed and blinked out at the city. So much for his plan. His plan to ask her if she wanted to get lunch just the two of them had been foiled by her disappearing at lunchtime yesterday, and then again by the battle today. The tiny sun and moon and stars necklace he’d bought her’d had the sun knocked off so it was now just the moon and stars. He’d kissed her but not really, just enough to make it awkward. Then he'd called her 'hot' and she clearly hadn't ben pleased by it. And now he’d been rejected before he’d even had the chance to ask her out.

Jesus christ.

First Liz, now Livvy, though his feelings for Livvy felt so much stronger than for Liz. He actually _knew_ Livvy. How she bit her lip when she was concentrating, how she was so sarcastic and distant until she knew you weren’t going to leave, how there were always ringlets falling out of her ponytail and falling in front of her face, how when she laughed she laughed with everything she was. He knew her and he really liked her and he had messed everything up with her.

His ‘love life’ really wasn’t going well.


	46. Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m useless and horrible and that you’ve all probably forgotten this story even exists but in my defence, the beach was nice. Jk I have actually been super busy exploring Bucharest, Istanbul, and Bodrum, and now I’m in Rhodes which is awesome! On the ferry over I wrote this but I’ve had basically no other time to write. Now I’m in Rhodes I’ll probably have more time.  
> Anyway enjoy!   
> Oh also I wrote this on my phone so I probably have a lot of typos and I have no sense of how long it is so have fun.

I had to push myself out of bed the next morning. It was only Wednesday, and I had to teleport both Ned and MJ to their own homes first thing to get clothes. Which left me and Peter. He stayed over often enough that he didn’t need to go home, so we ended up sitting next to each other at the breakfast bar while Tony made pancakes.

Fun times.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Tony asked, flipping a pancake onto my plate. “Any particular reason you’re quieter than a Russian assassin today?”

“Tired,” was all I replied, shovelling a chunk of lemon and sugar deliciousness into my mouth. He gave me a look. I shrugged. “To be fair, Dad, half our city was destroyed yesterday. Plus Carol woke me up at two AM to tell me she was leaving. So I think I’m allowed to be tired.”

“Yeah, well Spider-baby here actually _fought_ the person who was destroying ‘half of our city’ so I think _he_ has _more_ right to be tired.”

“And he is,” I pointed out, resolutely not looking at Peter, who was frowning at Tony’s nickname. “Besides, are you saying that you think I should be out fighting people too? Because I’m pretty sure—”

“Nope. Nopity nope nope nope.” He hit me on the head with the wooden spoon. “The only reason Insect-boy here gets away with it is because I’m not _actually_ his father. You, on the other hand, are now my child both biologically _and_ legally, so I can actually make sure you don’t turn into a vigilante idiot.”

“Sure, sure.” I glanced down at my pancakes. He really had no idea. Thanks to MJ’s hacking skills.

“‘Mnot an idiot,” Peter mumbled. I didn’t even look at him. Whereas once I would have at least raised an eyebrow, probably given a snarky remark, now there was nothing. _Oh, crap. I’ve managed to destroy the friendship anyway._

“Whatever, Arachnokiddo. Anywho,” Tony flipped a fifth pancake onto Peter’s plate, “How come Carol woke _you_? Was I not good enough?”

“She said something about ‘letting the ancient old man rest’, so—” I ducked, a grin on my face, when the wooden spoon came flying in my direction. “She probably just didn’t want to walk in on you and Pepper.”

He brandished the whisk at me. “ _That_ is inappropriate, young lady. Besides, you’re not any better.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” I exclaimed, my mouth falling open. I hadn’t slept with anyone. Hell, I’d only been kissed once and that was against my will. “That’s libel. Or the other one. I can’t remember which is which.”

“Slander,” Peter said. I caught his gaze, carefully guarded. “It’s slander.”

“The webhead is correct. It is slander,” Tony replied. “It’s also exaggeration. And you know what _you_ are? Late for school.” He tossed my water bottle through the air and I just about caught it.

“We’re not late,” I said, sliding off the bar stool. “We have five minutes. And we don’t need to make time for transport.”

“You just gonna flaunt your newfound teleporting abilities at school, then, Ms Genie?”

“Yup.”

“Cause that doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

“Yup.”

I brushed my teeth and rushed around my bedroom, stuffing books and pens and my phone and charger and firey-space-batons and headphones into my bag. I tugged on a sweater and my boots and ducked out of the room, only to crash into Peter’s chest.

I took a step back. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi.”

His hair was rumpled, the collar of his shirt slightly tucked under the blue sweater. Hot as fuck, basically. Since when did _this look_ become ‘hot as fuck’ to me? He oozed nerdiness. He practically spewed ‘gentleman’ and ‘nice person’, and yet here I was wanting to rip his clothes off.

And he definitely, undeniably didn’t want to do the same to me. He liked someone else.

I ducked my gaze and ran a hand through my hair.

“Do you wanna—go, then?” he asked, voice shakey. I really had managed to fuck everything up, just with one not-even-kiss.

“Sure,” I said, and adjusted the strap of my bag. “Let’s go.”

His hand brushed the back of my wrist and electricity shot up my skin. I was ultra-aware of every single touch between us, every movement, every whispering graze. _Jesus Christ. If I carry on like this, I’ll be dead of soppiness within two weeks._

But it would go away, wouldn’t it? The longing? The entire crush, eventually? If only he would get together with whoever it was he liked, then maybe I would have a chance of moving on.

The sky appeared above us with Manhattan stretching out in every direction. We were standing on the roof, the stairs down right next to us. I had chosen this spot for its privacy after too many days of reappearing in the locker rooms, which smelled like shit.

I swallowed as Peter’s hand drifted away from mine, leaving me too cold, and stepped towards the stairs. Peter followed, silent, until we reached the bottom of the stairs and I turned. American History, top floor.

A hand latched onto my wrist and I spun. It wasn’t a hard grip—it was barely a brush—but it was Peter. In this situation, it was _me_ with the super senses.

“Can you—can you just—” Peter swallowed, still holding my wrist lightly. I wanted to pull away. It felt too right, too perfect, and I knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last. He had just been trying to get my attention.

“What?” I said, perhaps too harshly.

His gaze connected with mine before he glanced back down at our hands, latched together. “Could you just tell me that the person you have a crush on _isn’t_ Brad?” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, what?”

“Just not Brad, please.” He was speaking faster now, gathering rhythm. Clearly wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. “He’s the worst—the worst person in this school, and the way he was with you at the party—I just, I really hope that it _isn’t_ Brad that you like—anyone other than Brad and I’ll be fine—but I would feel so much better if I just knew—”

“Wait, Peter,” I said, “Why do you think I have a crush on Brad? Or, like, on anyone, for that matter?” _Anyone other than you?_ I thought I had made it… pretty clear, last night that it was _Peter_ I liked.

“Well—you just—last night—you said ‘one of us likes someone else’ and it’s not me, so—”

“It’s _not_ you?”

He stared at me and dropped my hand. “Um, no?”

I stared right back at him. His eyes were wide with confusion. What did this mean? So he _didn’t_ like someone else? So he just didn’t like anyone at all? That was… fair. Probably. “So you don’t like anyone?”

His frown deepened. “No, I—what?—I _do_ like someone.”

“But you just said you didn’t like anyone.”

“I said I didn’t like anyone _else.”_

Anyone… anyone else. I shifted my weight onto my other foot. “Anyone else, other than who?”

His head tilted slightly in confusion. His lips were parted slightly and his knuckles were pink from the strength with which he gripped the strap of his backpack. “Other than… you?”

My heart stopped. Or it just went so fast I could no longer tell one beat from the next. He liked… me?

“Oh,” I said.

His gaze dropped to my boots. “I thought you knew that from… last night. But anyways, it’s fine. I just—is it Brad you like? Because I would say he’s not a great guy, and—”

“No no no no, Peter,” I cut him off. “I don’t—I don’t like Brad.”

His shoulders relaxed and I almost smiled. He was sweet enough that he would be relieved, just because I liked someone other than Brad? He didn’t care that we weren’t together, as long as I was safe. Or maybe I was just making this all up.

“I really misunderstood what you were trying to say last night.” I almost laughed at it. God, all that frustration for nothing. Or was someone about to jump out with a sign saying ‘ _kidding’_ or ‘ _not really’_? “I like _you._ I mean, I like you, too.”

His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe me. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing has to happen obviously—I mean, not that—I mean, it’s fine if you change your mind or whatever or even if you were just joking—” _Oh, god, no—_ “But I just thought it was worth telling the truth so there you go and I’m gonna go to class now and—”

Again, his hand wrapped around my wrist. Again, it was gentle as the summer’s breeze, despite Peter being able to lift seventy tonnes. “Livia,” he said, and I forced myself to look at him. “This is…” He was smiling, and kept glancing down and back up like he was embarrassed. “That’s really… Do you want to go out with me on, like, Friday? We could maybe go to the cinema or get pizza or whatever you want or something else completely if you—”

“That would be really nice. Thanks, Peter.”

_This isn’t real. It’s not real. I’m dreaming._

I was smiling, too wide and not wide enough, biting my lip to keep myself grounded. My fingers were entwined with Peter’s between us, and we were standing close enough together that a teacher wouldn’t like it. Peter was looking down at me with his dark, wide eyes, the slightest smile on his lips. “Okie dokie—I mean, okay, cool. I’ll, uh, see you then. And probably before then. I mean, I’ll see you at lunch, right?”

“Yeah. See you at lunch. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

His smile grew, and he didn’t turn away. We were close enough that, if I leaned up just the tiniest bit, we could be kissing. The thought made my heart race faster, and my breath was getting shallow. His eyes drifted to my lips.

_Is he going to kiss me for real this time?_

His other hand hovered by my waist and I shifted forward, stretching upwards. My eyes fluttered half-closed and my other hand rested on his upper arm. Warm breath on my skin, light pressure on my waist, our hands separating. My fingers rested on his neck, his hair so soft against my skin. My lips were seeped with warmth, only millimetres from his.

“Peter! Peter, are you there?”

Ned barrelled around the lower flight of stairs and Peter and I pulled apart. His hand found mine again, but that was our only contact.

Seriously, again?

“Peter. Olivia.” Ned was gasping, gripping in his hand a document I recognised as the Extremis file from their base. “You have to stop them. The Extremis is going to kill everyone.”

Somewhere in the distance, a film started playing with the whole _du-du-dummm_ music.

“I don’t understand,” I said. Peter’s hand was warm and reassuring in mine but my heartbeat was already picking up. “What’s going on?”  
“The Mandarin,” he repeated. His words were fast, wide eyes flicking between the two of us. “The document says it. Brad’s dad—or whoever it was you asked about the documents—was lying to you. They’re going to kill 98% of the population.”  
“Wait a minute,” Peter cut in, taking half a step forward. “How do you know?”  
Ned lifted a hand, the wad of browning papers crumpled in his tight grip. “I read them. Right here it says—it says that they didn’t fix the bugs. The Extremis can fix more things. It’s more powerful than before. But it’s also more dangerous than before.”  
“So—“ My brain was short-circuiting. “They’re releasing it?”  
“Selling it. To China. But there’s also plans here—“ he flipped the page over and pointed to a chunky paragraph halfway down. It was too far away for me to read so I grabbed the bundle, letting go of Peter’s hand. “—to get it into the water supply.”  
My gaze swung up. “What?”  
“I know. But—“  
“Wait, Ned,” Peter cut in, taking the bundle of paper from me. “How do you know all this? This is—it’s incomprehensible.” He waved the documents around, his forehead creased with a frown. “You’d have to be a doctor to understand this. That’s why we went to Wells in the first place.”  
A tinge of red rose upon Ned’s cheeks. “Iwannabeadoctor,” he blurted out. “Whenimolder. You know? I mean, maybe if I do that I can help my mom. So I started learning. Taking courses.”  
Peter stared at him. I had a niggling—more than niggling—urge to point out that there were more important things going on, but they were clearly having a moment. Instead I pulled my phone out and started TUESDAY on a search for anything to do with the Chinese deal or the water supply.  
“Why didn’t you tell me, dude?” Peter said.  
Ned seemed to wilt under Peter’s gaze. “I don’t know, man. It’s just everyone at this school seems to think engineering and computer science are the best things ever and my dad says if you’re a doctor you can help ten people a day until you’re dead but if you are an engineer you can discover something that will help everyone for the rest of time. It just—it felt stupid, you know? Like everyone would be disappointed in me.”  
Peter stepped forward, slightly past me, so he and Ned were face to face, only an arm’s length apart. “Man, you could never disappoint us. Being a doctor means you could help people forever as well. You could—“  
“You could potentially help a lot more people if you stopped talking and we took down the Mandarin,” I said, slipping past them and starting down the stairs. I needed my suit. Peter needed his. And then we would take them on.  
“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, glancing between Ned and me. “That’s a good point. Um—try to contact Mr Stark—right?”  
I just nodded. At this point, with this much at risk, it would be pure idiocy or pure arrogance to leave him out of this.  
Peter skipped backwards down the stairs towards me, doing a hurried and presumably instinctive handshake in the air with Ned. Nerds. He flashed an awkward smile at me as we rounded the corner.  
“You okay?”  
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Just pissed I didn’t see this sooner. We shouldn’t have trusted Wells so blindly. If he is behind this, he must be laughing at us.”  
“It’s not your fault. We all trusted him.”  
“Yeah, but I was the one who went to him first. It was stupid.” We rounded anther bend in the stairs, my arms swinging at my sides. “I just wanted to be able to trust someone, you know?”  
The back of his hand brushed mine and he halted slightly, the world seeming to slow. “You can trust me.”  
I smiled, feeling my face soften. His eyes were warm, nervous, determined, kind. His blue jumper was worn silk where it brushed against my skin. My skin heated as the ghost of his breath brushed my lips. “I know,” I said softly.  
And then we were walking again. “We have time, anyway,” he continued. “We don’t know when—“  
A huffing, panting Ned barrelled around the curve of the staircase for the second time. “There’s something I forgot to tell you guys,” he said.  
I stared at him, doom dripping from my throat to my heart to my stomach. “What is it?”  
He swallowed. “The water mains,” he said. “They’re poisoning them tonight.”

####

We worked on instinct, in perfect, balanced harmony. I reached out for Peter’s hand as he reaches out for mine, and we disappeared. He lifted the locked, I pulled out the suits. We disappeared again, this time to the changing rooms, and both of us began yanking off our clothes and tugging on our suits without thinking about anything other than the Mandarin. I clicked my breastplate into place, burrowed to the bottom of my bag for the batons, and clipped them to my belt as he shook his wrists and the web shooters materialised. 

Our hands touched again and I realised I didn’t know where to take us.

“Their house,” he said when he recognised my hesitation, his voice firm. “We don’t want to take on a whole bunch of bad guys. And maybe we can take a look around first, make sure we’re on the right track.”

I nodded and the bushes appeared in front of us. We ducked closer to the house, for once not going straight to the front, and wound our way into the back yard. A window was open on the second floor, though the house appeared otherwise deserted. Without speaking, Peter’s hand pressed into my waist and I put my arms around his neck. My weight shifted as my feet were lifted off the ground, and I would have been self conscious had I not known that Peter could lift a hell of a lot more than me. He climbed, the silence of the suburb neighbourhood almost unbearable, until we reached the window and I slipped through it, Peter’s hand on the small of my back pushing me up. I knocked some kind of model off the window ledge and it cracked open on the floor.

I winced, but there was no noise from the rest of the house, so I pushed further into the room.

Brad’s room, I realised. The same one from the party, with the shelf of video games and the clothes across the floor. There was a photo on the wall of him with his basketball team, and besides that some kind of blue basketball shirt. 

Peter slipped in behind me and appeared at my side, his Iron Spider suit catching the glare of the sunlight. He made a gagging sound and I twisted to look at him.

“Stinks in here,” he said, looking at me. His mask had peeled back, so I could see the disgust and discomfort in his usually kind, happy features. 

I inhaled and he was right. It was faint for me, probably much stronger for him, but there was the smell of unwashed socks and fuckboi deodorant.

“It’s weird,” I murmured, keeping my voice as low as possible. “That Doctor Wells is potentially running a terrorist organisation with plans to kill 98% of he world’s population, and yet he lives with a teenage boy that can’t even wash properly.”

Peter muttered something I didn’t catch and I looked up at him.

“What was that?”

A pale blush washes across his cheeks. “Nothing. But—do you really think Wells is responsible for this?”

I shrugged, picking my way over the clothes towards the door. “The only time we managed to talk to whoever is in charge, it was over a tannoy system. It could have been his voice but who knows?” I couldn’t even remember if I’d told Peter about this or not, but he gave just the tiniest frown and didn’t interrupt. “But I remember he said something about—about how he didn’t want to kill me because someone he knew would be annoyed.”

Peter’s frown darkened. “Brad.”

I raised an eyebrow at him pointedly as I twisted the doorknob. “Exactly.”

His hand closed over mine and he held the door closed. “I should go first,” he said, his voice half an octave higher. “Peter tingle, you know?”

“Yeah, well,” I said, twisting the door towards me anyway. “I can teleport, so...”

“Please?”

It really was a plea: desperate, entreating. His hand was soft on mine, and I could feel the warmth of his skin through the suits.

“I can’t—I can’t watch you get shot. Again.”

I wasn’t sure if the ‘again’ referred to the last few times I’d been shot, or to he bullet that had taken his Uncle Ben’s life years ago.

“Okay,” I said softly. “But you better not get shot either.”

His shoulders slumped down in relief but he was still looking at me. “Kiss for good luck?” 

My breath caught at his words. He was trying to make it sound like a joke, but I could hear the combined fear and hope in his voice. This was Spider-Man, and he still got scared before going into a fight.

I leaned onto my tiptoes, my hands resting on his upper arms, and let my lips drift across the corner of his mouth and cheek. Sparks shot across my skin from where I touched him like fireworks.

I stepped back. He was staring at me, and I stared back almost breathless.

“I’ll kiss you properly if we both get out of this alive,” I said. “So don’t die.”

He blinked once before opening the door, his mask rematerialising over his features. He crept along the corridor and I followed, flicking open one knife. The corridor was a balcony over the living room, with three other doors leading off. Every room was dark, the only light coming through the windows. Peter pushed open one door to reveal a spare bedroom, and another door led to a bathroom. The third was the master bedroom.

We slipped inside. The bed was made but messily, the covers crumpled. A door led to an en-suite, and a pile of clothes on a chair waited to be put into the dresser.

“No desk,” Peter said. “We should look for the desk.”

“He might have a study,” I said. “Let’s check downstairs.”

Peter nodded and crept back towards the door. I followed him, scanning the room for anything we’d missed. My gaze landed on the bedside table, upon which sat a framed photo.

With a thought, flame licked my blade and illuminated the photo. A young Brad, hanging around the neck of a woman. His mother. Judging by Brad’s age this was at least ten years ago, and the mother looked young. Late twenties, maybe. But you could only tell how young she was if you looked closely at her smooth skin, wide smile, round cheeks, because with a shaved head, she was hardly the typical model of a young, vibrant mother. She looked like a cancer patient. Like Lizzy, who’d been in my kindergarten and wore a hat everywhere, even though we weren’t supposed to. And the teachers let her, because she had no hair from her chemotherapy.

“Livia?”

I set the photo back on he bedside table and ducked through the door towards Peter. “Yep.” I flashed a smile and brushed my hair back, though it was in a tight ponytail and not in my face at all. 

I followed him down the stairs and he stepped back to let me through an open door off the living room. You would barely notice the door in the corner next to and almost hidden by a big dresser-cupboard thing.

“Picked the lock,” Peter said. “Well. Karen did.” 

I smirked at him, but focussed on the room.

A desk sat in the middle of the room, piled with papers and folders. There was a laptop-shaped empty rectangle in the centre and a desk lamp in the corner. I glanced back at Peter before sliding into the desk chair. Half the documents were in another language that looked like Mandarin Chinese, and the other half were just receipts, gas bills, other useless and meaningless papers.

I tugged at the handles of the compartments, and only one of them came open without a key. It held only stationery.

Peter appeared at my side and his nanotech suit formed a lock pick. I yanked the drawers open to reveal stacks and more stacks of documents. I picked up a chunk and started reading.

“This makes no sense,” I said.

“This makes no sense to us,” Peter corrected.

“Sorry, Peter,” came Karen’s voice in my ear. “I don’t have the medical terminology pack available to my systems. I could have it available in thirty-six minutes, though.”

I glanced at Peter. “Thanks, Karen,” he said. 

Thirty-six minutes. I wasn’t sure we had thirty-six minutes.

And TUESDAY sure didn’t have the ‘medical terminology’ pack downloaded. After all, my AI was a stolen, unfinished rip off of what I could salvage from my altered FRIDAY systems.

I set down the files and turned towards the ones I could understand: receipts. And I damn sure understood an invoice to the Chinese government for six hundred thousand litres of EX-307. To be delivered last Friday.

“Olivia.”

I looked at Peter. He was kneeling to the left of the desk, looking into a drawer. His shoulder blocked my view of the contents.

“Look.”

I leaned forward. At the back left corner, behind yet another stack of papers, was an orange-filled syringe, labelled EX-307.

“Shit,” I hissed. It was here. Worse, it was in Doctor Wells’ desk. Which meant, more than likely, that when we found him, he would be able to fight back.

“When we find him,” Peter said, his voice steady, “we need to get him to talk. We need to know what he’s done already. We need to know how to fix it.”

I nodded. Peter wouldn’t kill him anyway. Peter hates killing. But  I  would have. Now, though, I agreed. Information. And, hopefully, a little help from dear old Dad. 

Peter jumped to his feet a millisecond before the lights flicked on, bathing the room in light.

“If you wanted to visit, you should have just said.” Wells stood in the doorway, wearing his usual suit and holding a briefcase. “I’m not particularly fond of unwanted visitors.”


End file.
